Scars
by Maroucia
Summary: Sansa meets Sandor at a Strangerween costume party and she's convinced his scars are fake. This is my fill for the seventh round of sansan-russian-roulette on Live Journal. The prompt was by azraelgfg.
1. Chapter 1

_Wow! Now that was fun to write! :D It's my first modern AU ever and I really enjoyed working on this. This was produced in the context of a game and written way faster than my usual stuff so it's probably not as polished as some of my other stories._ _Not betaed. Be warned._

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The party was in full swing and people were standing in small groups all over Margaery and Loras' apartment, chatting while drinking beer, wine and cocktails. There was an improvised dance floor in the living room and Sansa had spent most of the last hour dancing with Jeyne and other college friends among monsters, vampires, zombies and pirates. It was a great Strangerween party and she was having so much fun, yet her head was starting to spin a little and thus she decided to rest for a while. She headed to the fridge to get herself some of that raspberry vodka and grapefruit juice drink she liked so much. As she was pouring juice over vodka and ice into her glass, she realised the tall stranger with long black hair and a hooked nose she had noticed earlier was right next to her, gazing down at her with interest.

Sansa didn't know him. In fact, it was the first time she'd ever seen him but she was new to King's Landing so it was not really surprising. He had just arrived at the party about a half-hour before and had spent his time peeking in her direction while drinking from the beer bottle he had in hand. _Perhaps he likes my costume,_ Sansa thought, looking down at herself. She had made it herself. It was a pretty accurate replica of a War of the Five Kings era highborn lady's gown and she did look very good in it. All of her friends had told her so.

"Hi," Sansa told him. It wasn't like her to address strangers, for she was usually very shy, but the vodka she had drunk was making her lose her usual inhibition.

"Hi," the man replied, his voice unexpectedly husky. He was very tall, perhaps the tallest man she had ever seen and impressively muscular. It was evident he spent many hours a week at the gym. Unlike the rest of the partygoers, he had not dressed up and was wearing blue jeans with a white tank top which showed off his powerful arms and chest. Sansa discreetly glanced at the solid looking muscles and hair that covered it and then smiled at him. The left side of his face was covered with very gruesome scars. It was quite striking work and she looked at it with curiosity.

"I'm Sansa. What's your name?" she asked, turning to face him completely.

"Sandor," he rasped, a half-smirk pulling at his lips. It was remarkable how realistically the scars moved with it.

Sandor was clearly at least a decade older than the rest of the crowd who were all college kids like herself and Sansa wondered who might have invited him.

"Are you friend with Loras and Margaery?" she asked him before taking a small sip from her glass.

"I'm the upstairs neighbour. They told me they'd throw a party tonight and that I was welcome if ever I felt like coming. Decided to pass by and have a few beers," he answered nonchalantly.

Sansa nodded and blushed. He was staring so intently at her and she couldn't stop herself from grinning. The vodka was really going to her head. For some reason, that seemed to make him uneasy and his mouth twitched, the false scars on the left side of his face following the skin same as if they had been genuine.

"Your scars, it's quite impressive," Sansa told him. "It's so realistic, I'd have actually believe they were real if I had met you in another context.

The man's mouth twitched again at that, but he gave her a faint, tired smile and said nothing.

"Can I touch them?" she asked, lifting her hand even before he had time to reply.

"'Course, go ahead," he agreed flatly, bowing slightly to help her reach up with more ease.

Sansa delicately stroked her fingers to his face. It really felt like true scar tissue. It was totally amazing to be honest. "Oh!" she let out in awe. "Feels so real! Who made this?"

Sandor let out a wry snort. "My brother."

"He's a makeup artist?" Sansa demanded as she removed her hand from his cheek.

Wincing, Sandor squinted and shook his head all the while barking a short, dry laugh. "No."

For some reason, he didn't seem inclined to continue the conversation and so Sansa didn't inquire further.

"I think I should rejoin my friends now. Come and dance with me later on if you feel like it," she proposed before turning her back to him and walking to where Jeyne and Loras were chatting in another corner of the kitchen.

"Yes, I'll dance with you," she heard him rasp as she left him. She could feel his eyes on her body as she headed away and when she briefly peeked back at him, she caught him glancing at her butt. While she should've been appalled by such boldness, Sansa turned away and smiled to herself, blushing madly.

"So you just made acquaintance with Sandor," Loras remarked as Sansa arrived by his side.

"Yeah I did. Never seen a man so tall and brawny. And with those scars… wow, he's quite fearsome."

"You know they're real?" Loras asked, though it was obvious by the roguish grin he bore he had already guessed she hadn't known.

Sansa's mouth opened in shock. "What?" she squeaked, her eyes grown wide. She could feel the colour draining from her face.

"His scars. They are real," Loras assured her, his grin widening even more. He apparently found her dismay over her blunder extremely amusing.

Horror-struck that she had acted so insensitively, Sansa's gaze instantly darted to where Sandor still stood near the fridge. Having obviously guessed the nature of her conversation with Loras, he smirked at her and winked. _How by the Gods will I ever make up for that?_ she wondered, her heart hammering in her chest, as Sandor began walking her way.


	2. Chapter 2

I wrote the continuation of this for Westeroswolf's birthday! They'll be just another part to this.

Just a reminder, this story is bookcanon as all my other fics are. Sansa is 18, Sandor 15 years older. I love to keep their canon age gap always. I hope everyone enjoys! Please share your thoughts! :D NOT BETAED!

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Gods, how terrible Sansa had felt after her blunder with Sandor! She had genuinely believed that his scars were fake and even very clearly told him so, going as far as to ask to touch them and gush about how real they felt! While it was a normal mistake to make at a Strangerween party, it was still so very embarrassing!

Sandor had rejoined her instants after Loras had informed her of her clanger, before she could really wrap her head around the insult she had unwittingly uttered. The wolfish grin which had twisted his face had made it obvious he was not blind to her uneasiness – but seeing how her cheeks had burned, it was not surprising, really. Sansa had lost no time apologising profusely and though Sandor had assured her it didn't matter, it had not stopped Sansa from feeling awful.

"Forget it," he had told, dismissing her concerns with a wave of the hand. Yet Sansa had not missed the spark of annoyance in his eyes and the way the burnt corner of his mouth had twitched ever so slightly.

His gaze on her had been so piercing! In her nervousness, Sansa had repetitively sipped at her glass during the couple of minutes that lasted their conversation, until there was no more of her drink left. She would get drunk soon if she didn't slow down, but at least it had given her an excuse to leave Sandor's side in order to resupply herself.

And indeed as Sansa now stood by the fridge, preparing herself another glass of her raspberry vodka and grapefruit juice drink, she couldn't deny she had already gotten herself pretty tipsy.

"What are you going to do, Sansa?" Jeyne was asking her. She was dressed as a pirate and was holding a bottle of her drink of choice in hand, one of those gaudy looking premix they sold at the grocery store. Sansa had tasted it and thought it disgusting, but Jeyne only ever purchased those when they went to parties.

"I'll dance with him if he asks me to."

"But his scars, Sansa! They're really gruesome! _I_ sure wouldn't dance with him!" Jeyne stated, discreetly peeking in Sandor's direction. He was now chatting with Loras and they could see him through the kitchen's doorway.

"I told him already I would! I cannot change my mind now that I know his scars are real - it would make me seem so petty!" Sansa started. Then, a grin splitting her face in two, she added: "And at least in this context, I'll able to pretend like it's makeup! Look at all these people around us!" Not far from them, there was a group of zombies with mouldy looking skin and blood coming out of their mouth and eyes. "I danced with some of these guys and each of them are way uglier and scarier than Sandor anyway!" At that, both of them giggled and headed back to the living room.

Moments later, Jeyne and Sansa had retrieved their place on the dance floor. Sansa kept her glass on a table not too far and took sips from it every few minutes. Gods, how tasty it was! So sweet and yet tangy as well. She was growing quite light-headed and giddy and grinned to herself even as she danced. Apart from Jeyne, Margery was on the dance floor also, as well as many others of her school friends and acquaintances, all of them showing off their most practiced dance moves.

Sansa was taking another sip from her drink when she noticed Sandor was standing right next to her again, gazing down at her with a new bottle of beer in his hand. She swayed a little as she turned around to meet his eyes but shortly regained her balance. To see him up close again brought to her reconsider her earlier claim to Jeyne. His scars may not be as revolting as the zombie makeup some of the guys were sporting tonight, nevertheless, they were still indisputably intense, and he certainly looked more unapproachable than anyone at this party. _I'd usually run as fast as I could from a guy like him,_ she thought _._ And yet, here she was, impudently staring at his face. The alcohol she had drunk was lending her courage, it seemed.

"So, is the princess ready to dance with me now?" Sandor asked her, his tone a bit derisive.

Sansa looked down at her costume. "It's a replica of lady's gown from around 300AC, not necessarily a princess'!" she informed him, craning her neck. Gods, how tall he was!

He snorted. "Same difference. Now ready to dance with this bloody commoner or are you still too appalled by those burns on my face?"

Sansa's cheeks coloured deeply. "Oh! Once more, I'm _really_ so sorry!" she exclaimed, both her hands rising over her mouth. "I swear I'm not appalled by them! It was an honest mistake! I-"

"It's alright. Just teasing you, m'lady," he cut her. Then his lips pulled in a smirk and he added, his eyes narrowed at her reflectively: "In fact come to think about it, chances are if Loras had not told you they were real, I might have actually chosen to keep you in the dark about it. Then perhaps you'd have agreed to give me your number."

Sansa's eyes grew wide at that and the pace of her pulse hastened. She wasn't sure what to think about his comment. Was he japing or did he really want her number? In doubt, she decided not to answer and only giggled nervously. Out of its own, her hand reached down for her drink and she took another anxious gulp. She set it back to its place over the table. Neither of them was speaking now. Wow, that was awkward.

"Wanna dance?" she proposed when she couldn't stand it anymore.

"Alright," he rasped, leaving his beer bottle on the table as well.

Sansa could feel the eyes of many of the partygoers on her as she led Sandor to the centre of the dance floor. They were probably surprised that such a good and well-behaved girl as her would be friendly with the one outsider of the party – especially that he was older and looked so daunting and unsavoury - but she didn't really care. _I'm only doing it to be nice with him anyway. It's not like I'll truly be giving him my number or anything._

Sansa turned to face Sandor and started to dance. She knew she was good at it, had taken many lessons of ballet, modern and Dornish dance over the years, yet tonight, she truly had no inhibition at all and felt like the queen of the dance floor. She wondered if Sandor thought so as well. _Oh, he has to, with the way he's looking at me,_ Sansa reflected, blushing under the strength of his stare on her. He wasn't doing much himself, just moving ever so slightly from side to side with the beat of the music as Sansa had noticed big, virile men were typically wont to do, but it wasn't ungraceful either.

Sandor's presence was very overwhelming. It was not just about his height and build; there was also some sort of aura about him. Every time Sansa looked up at him and met his stare, she could feel the knot in her tummy tightening. His entire attention was on her and she had to admit she found it quite exhilarating, like she was all the mattered amidst the crowd.

As the songs went on, she realised the distance between them grew smaller and smaller, yet whether it was she or he who was approaching the other, she wasn't certain. Often, he would touch his warm hand to the small of her back, her arm or her shoulder as she swirled about, but Sansa didn't really mind.

Both she and Sandor sporadically returned to the table to get more of their respective drink and came back to their spot on the dance floor after their sips. On one of these occasions, Margery pulled Sansa aside and asked her if Sandor was bothering her. She could find an excuse to help her get rid of him, if she wanted.

"He keeps touching you, do you mind?"

She shook her head. "No, that's fine. Don't worry about it! He's not bothering me at all!" Sansa assured her with a wide smile before returning to his side. And it was true. Dancing with him was unexpectedly intoxicating. It made her feel so small and attractive…

They had been dancing for Sansa didn't know how long and the room was starting to spin around her, but it was all fun and she kept laughing and laughing, delighted when Sandor joined in also and barked one of his rough laughs. Yet at one point in her carelessness, Sansa tripped on the hem of her gown and almost fell down to the ground.

"Careful now, Princess," Sandor warned her as he caught her just in time. His hands were around her waist, so large and strong, and her whole body was tipping backward with her head completely upside down.

"Thanks you! Oh! You saved me! _My knight!"_ she cried out, giggling almost hysterically.

Sandor chuckled as well, the sound hoarse and low. He moved his hands slowly over her waist to lift her upward again, yet didn't remove them from her afterwards. Sansa was truly dizzy now and she laid a palm over his enormous bicep and another on his torso for balance. Both were as hard as steal and the feel of them made her stomach flutter.

"Whew, I think I need some water now," she breathed, her gaze unsteady as she peered up at him.

"Might be a good idea," Sandor agreed.

With that, they both headed to the kitchen. It was almost empty now, only a couple of zombies, a witch and a sexy girl-cat remained in one of its corner, chatting in circle. Sandor found Sansa a glass in the cupboard and filled it with tap water. She drank it all in one long gulp, feeling much better already. As she did, Sandor opened the fridge and took himself another beer. Sansa's eyes flicked over his arms and chest as he twisted off the bottle's cap, admiring how his huge muscles briefly contracted.

"Want more water?" Sandor asked.

"No, thank you," she whispered, her gaze still lingering over his chest.

In an instant of distraction, Sansa lost her footing again and reeled a little but she leaned onto the counter behind her and everything was alright again. Sandor let out a short, dry laugh at that. Grinning at her, he approached her until only a few inches remained between them and settled a heavy hand on the counter by her side. Sansa arched her back a little to distance herself from him even though she didn't truly mind their proximity.

 _He smells so… so manly,_ she mused. She was confused. Sandor was as far from her type of men as anyone had ever been. First there were those scars… the fact that they were genuine was still a bit shocking to her, but even without them, he wouldn't have been really handsome anyway. Also, he was freakishly tall and sturdy and had the look of a boor to him! On the top of all that, he was too old and from what she could see from the tank top he wore, had way more hair on his chest and arms than she liked. And yet, in spite of all that, Sansa couldn't deny that being by his side was thrilling. He was perhaps the most masculine specimen of man to have ever walked the soil of this earth! And now, here she was in this kitchen with him…

 _What am I thinking?_ Sansa thought, smiling at her own foolishness. But it was no good. The truth was that she was curious in a way. She may be a bit drunk, Sansa was still not blind to Sandor's interest in her. How would it be to … _to do it_ with such a brute? She had only ever had sex with her ex, Harry, and he was as skinny as a twig next to this beast of a man. _Oh by the Seven, Sansa! Stop it!_ she scolded herself, bursting out with laughter.

"What's so funny?" Sandor asked in a mix of amusement and curiosity.

"Nothing," she lied, feeling herself turning pink from the root of her hair to the tip of her toes.

"Right," he rasped, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously.

"I think I'd like to have more of my drink," Sansa announced, averting her gaze from him with a huge, embarrassed smile on her lips.

Grunting, Sandor took a step back to allow her to move away and get to the fridge.

"So what do you do for fun?" he asked after a few seconds of silence as she clumsily filled her now empty glass of water with ice, vodka and juice.

"I love to sew, sing and play music, read…hang out with my friends…" Sansa enumerated while keeping her eyes on her task.

As she tried to come up with something else to add, she hiccupped, her eyes growing wide at once. Gods! How unseemly! Hopefully Sandor had not noticed! Giggling, Sansa took a sip from her glass, before turning to gaze up at him, her cheeks burning.

"What about you?" she returned the question before he could say anything. Then, taking in his large shoulders, she continued: "Do you train? I'm sure you must a lot!"

"Indeed, I do," Sandor agreed smugly.

"Oh! It's easy to tell!" Sansa went on, stifling another hiccup. "You could probably carry me over your shoulder without even an ounce of effort if you wished to," she said without thinking.

"Want me to try?" he asked, a wicked spark passing through his eyes. Even before she had time to answer, he bent down and hooked his hands behind her thighs.

"Ah! No! No! Let me down!" Sansa cried out as he abruptly lifted her from the ground. She punched his back a few times, unsure which were the floor and the roof for a short instant, but after only a few seconds of that, Sandor lowered her back onto the floor, sniggering roughly.

Sansa was breathless and so very dizzy, she was wobbling from side to side well and truly now. To keep her from falling, Sandor pushed her against the kitchen counter, his hands remaining around her waist. The zombies, catgirl and witch were all looking at them, she realised. Had she really yelled that loud?

"Oh! Why did you have to do this?" Sansa scolded him even as she laughed.

"Your hiccup's gone now, so why the fuck are you complaining?" Sandor replied, grinning mischievously. "Still you have to be careful with what you say, girl," he rasped, his tone half-nonchalant, half-playful. "If you don't want a man to do something, don't tempt him."

Sansa's hands were resting flatly on his torso. The world was still unstable around her but that didn't stop her from giggling. _Sweet maiden, how brawny he is!_ she mused, pressing her palms to his powerful chest. It was a little cushiony – just enough so that laying her head against it would be comfortable - still she could feel just how incredibly solid the muscles were underneath. Oh! Her stomach was fluttering at the very notion and warmth pooling down her belly. Unwittingly, she moved one of her hands to his upper arm and started tracing the shape of his sinewy bicep with her fingertips, utterly fascinated.

"If you want to, I'll take my shirt off and let you feel my muscles as much as you wish. Just come with me upstairs…" Sandor proposed lowly bringing his hands higher on her ribs.

Sansa's heart jumped in her chest at that. She could guess just how bright red her face had become. Keeping her gaze bashfully lowered, she was trying to think of a polite and nice way to refuse when she heard herself speak. "Oh… okay." Her eyes grew wide at once. Seven Heavens! What by the Mother had she just said?!

Sandor's hands tensed around her for an eyes blink, but then he removed them from her waist and leaned back to better gaze at her. His lips were pulled in a roguish half-grin, she saw as she gazed up at him. "Come," he said, engulfing one of her hands in his fist and pulling her behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Yay! Third and final part is done just in time for Westeroswolf's birthday! :D I hope everyone enjoys! If you do, please let me know! ;)_

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Sansa bit at her lower lip. _Oh, what have I gotten myself into_? she wondered, her pulse resounding loudly in her ears even as she followed Sandor out of the kitchen. Sansa was no fool. She knew Sandor would want to have sex with her once they were at his place. And yet while the prospect made her very nervous, she was oddly excited as well – a little like you got just before getting on a roller coaster ride.

The idea of having a one night stand had always terrified her far too much to even consider it as an option. She was too much of a good girl for that and besides, how awkward sleeping with a total stranger had always seemed to her! Tonight though, for the very first time in her life she was willing to let out the naughty girl in her and give it a try. A distant part of her knew she would probably regret this later on, but in her present state, it really didn't seem to matter all that much. She was too inebriated to worry about how she would feel about it later on.

 _Why couldn't I have fun also, every once in while?_ she reasoned, an anxious smile playing on her lips. Most of her friends didn't shy away from spending the night with random guys they met at clubs when they took a fancy to one - Margaery must have done it at least a four or five times since the beginning of the semester! Even Jeyne had slept with more boys than her… Sansa felt like such a child next to her friends, sometimes! At eighteen, she had only had one boyfriend in Harrold and only ever done it with him, after months of dating. She had been single for almost a year now and had not met anyone that interested her since then and thus, always spent her nights alone. Well all that would change tonight, it seemed…

As they passed by the living room, Sansa tried not to gaze in the dance floor's direction for fear that she might meet the gaze of any of her friends. Hopefully they were all too busy dancing to notice she was leaving with the upstairs neighbour…

The fluorescent lightning of the staircase was shockingly bright after the dimness of Loras and Margaery's apartment and Sansa had to squint her eyes against it. Her knees were weak and legs moving slackly under her and thus when she caught her feet into the old dirty carpet on the corridor's floor, she tripped and almost fell down. She laughed as Sandor's once more came to her rescue, snaking her arms around him for support. After that, he put his arms around her shoulders to help her as they climbed up the stairs, for it proved more arduous than expected. Gods, she was not used in drinking so much…

While it was a little hushed, they could still hear the music from the party very distinctively in the staircase. However, from the moment they entered Sandor's apartment and that he shut the door behind them, all that remained from it was the sound and vibration of the bass. Sandor removed his hands from Sansa to lock the door and she took a couple of steps forward.

It was quite cold in here in contrast to downstairs, where it was so crowded and everyone was sweating. Sansa hugged herself and took in her surroundings, her gaze a bit unsteady as she scanned the place. There wasn't any light on but all the curtains were drawn open. Dirty dishes was piled up on the kitchen counter not far from the entrance, still apart from that, the apartment didn't seem very messy.

"Here, take your drink," Sandor told her as he handed her her glass. She hadn't even noticed he had brought it from downstairs. She took a sip and Sandor opened his fridge to take himself another beer.

For a moment, Sansa wondered why she had agreed to follow him. It was so quiet in this empty apartment. Although to have a one night stand with this absolute stranger had seemed like a fun and crazy thing to do just a moment ago, everything appeared very different now that she had left the party and its highly charged atmosphere. Sandor even looked older and more of a giant then before, it seemed. And she was so muddled. Though she had stopped dancing, Sansa would have sworn the floor was still moving around her.

Sandor walked her way and by reflex, she took a nervous step back. Unsurprisingly, she stumbled and staggered a little, Sandor catching just in time.

"Careful now," he rasped sliding a hand behind her shoulder blade. "I think you need to lie down. Come."

Sansa let him lead her to his bedroom. As for the rest of the apartment, the lights were turned off, still the curtains were wide open and the streets lamps were emitting enough light to see. It was all very hazy to Sansa but she vaguely made out how the bed was unmade and the walls were bare of any decoration. She was strolling toward the window when a large hand slid over her stomach, inducing a gasp from her.

"Oh! You scared me!" she let out as Sandor pulled her roughly against his rock-hard torso and started nuzzling at her neck.

At the feel of his large and sturdy body behind her, Sansa was suddenly reminded of why she had agreed to coming with him. Her core was aching already. It was a bit confusing. She had never felt that way with Harry.

Sandor found Sansa's hand with his and removed the glass she still held from her fingers to place it over the high chest of drawers by their side. Then he resumed touching her, his palms travelling over her stomach, ribs and sides. One of them moved to her boobs to fondle them, gently at first. Shortly though, he closed a hand around one of her breasts and pinched her nipple through her dress with just the right amount of strength.

A small moan escaped Sansa's lips at that, yet even before she could shut her mouth, Sandor lifted her from the floor and all but threw her over his bed. She squeaked as high as a mouse and started giggling from the moment she landed onto the bouncing mattress. _Wow! What a beast,_ she thought, her eyes rounded and lips parted in an astonished smile.

The next thing Sansa knew, Sandor was straddling her and fumbling at the laces of her bodice. "How does that bloody thing works? How the fuck am I supposed to take it off of you? Huh?" he inquired impatiently.

Sansa laughed and tried to help him but she didn't understand it more than him and quickly left him to figure it out on his own. She shut her eyes and raised both her hands to her cheeks, feeling the chamber rock around her.

"Damned overcomplicated dress. Glad I don't live in the Targaryen Dynasty's buggering era," Sandor growled as he finally pulled Sansa's gown over her shoulders.

He was mistaken. Her gown was not from the Targaryen Dynasty's age but the War of the Five King's, however it was probably not worth telling him.

Sandor made quick work of Sansa's bra and panties. Without her even realising what had happened, she was all of a sudden completely nude. Sandor's tank top had also disappeared, she saw as she opened her eyes. In the gloominess of the room, she could not discern every detail of him but saw enough to increase the pressure down her lower belly. _Sweet Maiden! It's like I'm about to sleep with the Warrior himself_! Sansa mused as her gaze trailed thirstily down his massive, hairy torso. She raised her hands to touch the robust expanse of muscles, her fingers clumsy but eager.

Sandor growled lowly in his throat, a sound of approval with a very feral twist. Without further ado, he lowered himself over her and started touching her everywhere with startling hunger. Soon, all became a confusion of huge, calloused hands all over her curves. His lips and tongue were on her nipples, his long and thick fingers between her thighs, stroking her there and fingering her… It was a bit overwhelming how much he seemed to want her and Sansa kept her eyes closed, feeling dizzy as much from all the vodka she had drunk as from his desire for her. Still there was no denying that she was aroused as well. More than she had ever been to be honest. His touch on her was delicious and she kept kneading his arms and chest with her hands, amazed by the feel and size of them. Every now and then, he kissed her and while his mouth on hers was as rough as all the rest of his caresses, it was just as enjoyable and exciting.

"Touch me, Sansa," Sandor murmured, his voice raw with lust. Seizing her wrist, he brought her hand to his crotch. Even through his jeans, the fact that he was extremely well hung and as hard as could be was unmistakable.

"Oh…" Sansa let out, her eyes popping open and heart skipping a beat. That was _incredible_! Seven Heavens! That thing was _at the very least_ as twice as big as Harry's! Utterly taken aback, she tried to close her hand around its width through the fabric of his jeans to get a better idea of just how long and large it was, but Sandor shortly pushed her hand aside.

"Let me take this off," he breathed lustily, rolling off from her to sit at the edge of the bed.

Sansa watched him with exhilaration and nervousness both. Sadly though, she was having an increasingly hard time following every detail of what was taking place around her. Everything seemed to be happening in flashes and her stupid eyes did not stay focused even though she was infinitely interested in what was unfolding before her.

In no time, Sandor was as naked as on his name day and standing by the bed, his hands busy pulling a condom over his penis. _Wow…_ Sansa mused, the view of his massive member taking her breath away. It was _huge_! Her loins were throbbing with a strength she didn't even know was possible and even before she could understand what she was doing, she had already sat up at the edge of the bed and taken Sandor's hulking penis in her mouth.

The man groaned from the moment her lips were on him and buried his fingers in her hair. "Fuck," he hissed, obviously a bit taken aback. "You really want my cock, don't you, girl?" he breathed huskily, twisting his fingers into her hair and pulling at it a little.

Sansa let out a small yelp though it didn't really hurt, the sound muffled by his member in her mouth.

It was not like her to be so bold in bed, she was usually much more timid than that! Never had she sucked Harry's dick without him asking her first – or sometimes even begging her! - and she had never been truly keen to do it. And yet now, she had jumped on Sandor's cock same as if it was the one thing she desired the most! It had been as if her every instinct had driven her to do it… The very notion of it made her blush madly and yet she kept going, her head bobbing as her mouth worked on him greedily. Same as on the dance floor earlier that night, she had no inhibition at all. Swirling her tongue around the head of his penis, she was pumping at his shaft with a hand, feeling herself growing exceedingly wet between her legs.

"That's enough, princess. Get on your back now," Sandor urged her after Sansa didn't know how long. His voice was low and he sounded exhausted in a delighted sort of way.

With strong hands, he pushed her onto the mattress and got over her, entering her at once. Sansa was so soaked that that gigantic cock of his met no resistance whatsoever and slid right through.

"Ooh!" she let out, clutching at his broad shoulders.

The sensation of being so thoroughly filled by him was so intense that for a moment, it was as if her brain had stopped functioning altogether. She was rooted to the bed, a little as if she was experiencing a sudden increase in the gravitational force. The only thing she could imagine matching her current feeling of dumb helplessness was to be run over by a train. To be so stretched around him hurt a little, but it was so good and ecstatic as well. Her eyes were rolling back into her head and pleasant shivers running all over her body. He was so heavy on her and so huge that she was convinced anyone stepping into the room would not even notice she was there under him at all.

The man was groaning, coming in and out of her slowly at first, before shortly thrusting himself into her more vigorously. In no time, he was straight out pounding his cock into her slickness with more energy that she believed was possible. Sansa yelped in surprise and closed her legs around his hips for better anchorage. _Oh! He is well and truly an animal!_ she thought in a mix of shock and delight. Wow! That was pretty intense!

Sansa was whimpering and crying out in pleasure and Sandor grunting like the beast he was, never losing a beat in his restless claiming of her. She was holding onto him to better follow his crazy cadence and grinding her hips against his. His enormous hands were like vices around her, keeping her well in place under him. _Wow! What a brute!_ Sansa kept thinking in bliss as he continued shoving himself between her legs, each coming and going just as sharp and fast.

She kept her eyes closed, for in her drunken state, all had been pretty foggy and unstable for a while already now. However after some time, even in the dark, she could still sense just how fast the room was turning around her. Sansa breathed in and tried to let in pass. She could wait it out. Sandor would probably be over soon anyway. Yet as the minutes passed and the room kept spinning faster and faster, Sandor never ceased hammering his cock into her like his life depended on it. While she had appreciated how athletic and aroused he was to begin with, now she'd have rather he'd be at least just a little less.

Her body was becoming limp but she had no choice but to keep holding onto him, seeing how savagely he was still thrusting himself in her. Now, Sansa really wished he would stop. She was growing well and truly queasy and needed a break from this. While she had moaned in pleasure but a couple of minutes before, she was now letting out the tired laments of a woman who badly needed to world to stop moving and to rest.

"Aahh…" Sansa complained louder when Sandor didn't seem to understand, her eyes screwed shut and lips turned downward. She felt as if she would soon pass out or perhaps even retch.

At that, Sandor finally noticed something was amiss and ceased all movement. "You alright, Sansa?" he asked, panting.

"Aaah… Need to sleep…" she muttered as she tried to roll away from him, pushing weak hands to his chest.

Sandor withdrew his member from her at once and let her go – snorting out a rough laugh even as he did. And as everything faded to black and Sansa lost grip on reality, she could still hear him chuckling to himself.

* * *

The first thing that woke Sansa back to reality was the painful pounding of her brow. Gods, had she ever had a stronger headache? She shifted her nude body between the sheets, feeling very lost and disorientated. Where was she?

But then, her memory came back to her in successive flashes, each more embarrassing than the last. She opened her eyes in very slim splits and vaguely discerned the shape of a massive, muscular man by her side. He was sleeping, judging by the soft snoring she could hear.

 _Seven Heavens…. Have I really?_ … she wondered, lifting her head very faintly from the pillow it rested on. Oh Gods, yes she had, she realised, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back.

How awful she felt this morning! She needed water, was dizzy and might have believed her head was being crushed under a ton to brick for as much as it hurt.

Then, images of how she had behaved came back to her. Of how she had shamelessly moaned… of how she had sucked his huge cock…

 _Oh! What have I done?_ she mused, utterly abashed and wishing she could dissolve into nothingness. Hopefully no one had seen her leave the party with him…

Opening her eyes well and truly, she looked at the man by her side and almost gasped as he eyes finally focuses and she saw the burns on his face in all of their gruesome glory under the morning light for the first time.

 _Oh, sweet Maiden,_ she thought. Shutting her eyes in despair, she promised herself she would never have another drink again.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hi everyone! So I finally decided to continue this fic. They'll be at least four more chapters including this one, but I'm not exactly sure of the exact number yet either. I hope you'll all enjoy! Again, bear in mind that this is neither betaed nor obsessively edited as some of my other stuff. And finally if you like this, please don't hesitate to share your thoughts with me! :)_

* * *

Gradually, Sansa came back to the world, though truth be told, she was not too eager to return to it. She was in a horrible state as it became more and more apparent as the last remnant of sleep evaded her. First, there was her head which was pounding painfully and then, her bladder which felt as if it would burst any minute and finally, her mouth which was as dry as sandpaper. Where was her water bottle? she wondered, shifting in-between her sheets. She opened her eyes in very slim slits in hope of finding it by the side of her bed where she usually left it, but realised as she did that she wasn't in her room at all. _Oh, right… it's true…_ she mused as the memory of how she had misbehaved came back to her for the second time this morning. Screwing her eyes shut, she let out a small, despondent moan.

Seven Heavens… she must have been really drunk to agree to have a one night stand and then, stay the night at the guy's place – a guy she had know for only a couple of hours! How many drinks had she had? She had no clue, still by the strength of the headache which plagued, she could easily guess she had had far too many... She only vaguely remembered the last hour before she fell asleep. It seemed almost as if it had all been a dream for as much as it was cloudy in her mind, though the fact that she was still here this morning was proof enough that it had indeed happened. _Oh gods, how embarrassing,_ she thought, raising both her hands to her face as if to hide it from the world.

From outside the room, she could hear the sound or running water and dishes being cleaned. Had Sandor been awake for long? He couldn't have been as intoxicated as her yesterday - she had known it even in the state she had been in. Thus, he would remember everything far better than her. _Oh, sweet Maiden,_ the words came to Sansa's mind as she remembered how eager and bold she had been with him and then, how it had all ended so very abruptly with her on the verge of throwing up… How could she ever face him again after all that? Sansa really wanted to rise, dress up and flee home as fast as she could - if she were quick and quiet enough, she could probably manage to disappear without Sandor noticing. The problem was, such a project involved movement and the very prospect of it made her fear she might retch.

 _I have to do it. I cannot stay here for the rest of my life!_ Sansa finally decided. She had no idea of what time it was and chances were high Sandor was getting impatient that she left. They didn't know each other _at all_ and what could be more bothersome than a strange, hangover girl, having a lie-in in your bed when all you wanted was to be alone on your day off?

Mustering all her courage, she opened her eyes. From the instant she did, she was blinded by the sunbeams the room was bathed in, the curtain being completely opened. Gods, how bright that light was! Sansa complained inwardly, as she squinted against the glare, the hammering of her brow increasing. She had no choice though. She had to leave. With that in mind, she rolled onto her back and sat up, the room rocking in the most horrible manner for a second or two afterwards. Groaning, Sansa stayed motionless and waited it out.

Once her vision had steadied, she raked her stare over the chamber. On the chest of drawers near the window, there was a half empty glass which contained a pink liquid. _My drink,_ Sansa surmised, though she didn't recall having brought it here. Then, she winced as she spotted her gown, lying on the floor at the other end of the room.

 _I need a drink of water first,_ she though, suddenly very weary and desperate. As she did, her eyes fell on the tall sport water bottle that rested on the night table at the other side of the bed. Relief flooding over her, Sansa immediately leaned over and reached out for it, but her fingers were clumsy and all she managed was to push it down to the floor. The bottle was apparently almost empty for it rebounded very noisily many times before rolling all the way to the door.

Sansa's eyes grew wide and taking a deep breath, she listened with a feeling of helplessness as the kitchen faucet was turned off and the sound of running water stopped. Hurriedly, she turned onto her back again and pulled the blankets over her nude breasts, her heart in her throat. She could hear Sandor approaching and in no time, he was opening the door, his tall and broad frame filling the doorway completely. He even had to tip down his head slightly as he entered the room.

"You're awake now?" he asked, drying up his hands with a dishtowel. His voice was even hoarser then she remembered.

Biting at her bottom lip, Sansa nodded, her stomach pulling in a tight knot. Gods, what a sight he made! While she had found his impressive physique an exciting challenge to take on yesterday night, she now found him more intimidating than anything else. She'd well and truly never seen a man so tall and brawny! And with those horrific scars marring half of his face and even some of his neck… Seven Heavens, he looked fearsome - not the sort of man she'd like to meet in a dark alley! _Wow, did I really sleep with that guy?_ she wondered, gulping.

Sandor contemplated her for an instant, his burned face unreadable, before his gaze flicked to the bottle at his feet. Raising his one good eyebrow, he threw the dishtowel over his muscular shoulder and bent down to pick it up. "You must be thirsty," he said, as he straightened his back again.

Without waiting for her to answer, he walked out the room and turned the kitchen faucet on again. A few seconds later, Sandor reappeared in the threshold and strolled to the bed. "Here," he told Sansa as he handed her the water bottle. "Take this as well. I think you may need it." As he spoke, he put a couple of tablets in her palm with a hand certainly at least as twice as big as hers. "Ibuprofens," he informed her with a smirk.

"Thank you," Sansa breathed. With no further ado, she put the ibuprofens in her mouth and drank one of the longest gulps she had ever had. The water was very cool and did wonders to her unbelievingly dry throat and mouth. It tasted delicious.

When she was done, Sandor sniggered roughly. He was still standing by her side, watching her with unhidden interest. "Not used to drinking, are you?"

"No," Sansa admitted, lowering her gaze bashfully. Was he making fun of her for the way she had behaved yesterday? Images of how she had sucked his dick just a few hours ago flashed unbidden through her mind at that instant, bringing a deep and burning blush to creep over her cheeks.

"You need to eat something. I was just about to make breakfast. How do you like your eggs?" Sandor demanded. Though her eyes were still averted, Sansa could feel how his stare was pinned on her. In reaction, she pulled her blankets a little higher over her shoulders.

"Thanks you but I'm not hungry," she replied. It was true. She even felt very queasy.

"That's what you think, but believe this old man, I've a lot of experience with hangovers and you _are_ fucking starving, even if you don't know it. Take a shower and I'll fix you something in the meantime. You can put on my bathrobe afterward. It's on a hook behind the bathroom's door."

The very idea of putting on his clothes made Sansa very uneasy. It seemed far too intimate, though the impression was certainly absurd seeing that they had had sex last night. Nevertheless, she shook her head in refusal. All she wanted was to be home as fast as possible. "Thank you again, but I'd rather shower at my place."

"As you wish. I'll make us eggs and bacon," Sandor said, turning his back on her and exiting the room.

Once the door was shut behind him, Sansa sighed deeply. While she was somewhat relieved by the fact that Sandor didn't seem bothered by her presence after all, she'd have rather just dress up and leave. There was really nothing she wished more for in the world at the moment than to be home in her pyjama, but he would apparently not let her go as easily as she'd hoped. _It's okay. I'll just eat a few bites and be off._

After having drunk more water, Sansa stood from the bed. She badly needed to go to the bathroom and thus didn't lose a second before attempting to retrieve her clothes from the ground. Her legs were weak and the room turned disagreeably around her and as she bent down to pick up her dress, she felt as if she would faint for a brief instant. _Ugh, by the Mother, this is awful…_

It took Sansa some time to find her panties and bra. They were on the floor not far from the bed, both a couple of yards apart. Lacing her gown back on proved a real trial. It was never simple, still in her state of dizziness and confusion, it required all of her concentration and even that didn't seem to suffice. All through her struggle, she could hear bacon being fried and dishes taken out the cupboard. In the end, she resigned herself to the fact that she would never manage to adjust her grown properly and quit even though it hanged around her body in the most unflattering manner.

One of her embroidered slippers was under the bed, the other near the door. Sansa slid her feet into them, squirming in place with her legs squeezed together for a few heartbeats afterwards as the ache in her bladder intensified. When it at last receded, she strode out the door, wishing she could be teleported over her couch. Standing upward seemed the least natural of position today.

Unlike downstairs at Loras and Margaery's place, Sandor's apartment was an open era with no corridor and thus Sansa saw him from the moment she was out of his bedchamber. He was standing just in front of the stove, holding the handle of a frying pan and moving its content around with a spatula.

Jerking his head to look in her direction, he glanced down at her costume, a smirk pulling at his lips. "The bathroom's just on your left, _princess_ ," he informed her, his tone mocking.

Sansa knitted her brow in a mix of embarrassment, annoyance and despair. If only she had had a change of regular clothes with her! Yet, she had never intended not to come back home after the party and had planned to take a cab with Jeyne back to the apartment they shared. Gods, hopefully Jeyne was not too worried about her…

Peeing at last felt like a true liberation and lasted almost a minute. When Sansa stood up afterwards, she looked herself in the mirror and gasped in horror. She was an absolute mess! Her hair was tangled, her skin ashen and her eye makeup smeared everywhere but where it was meant to be. As best she could, she tried to clean up her face using her hands, toilet paper and water, however, it proved hard without makeup remover and a proper towel and she didn't manage to remove everything. Then, she proceeded to untangle her hair with her fingers as best as she could. It didn't feel right to use the brush there was on the vanity, thus she made do without it. After a few minutes of effort, she sighed exasperatedly and abandoned. She still looked an utter mess but there was really no helping it.

 _That's alright, I have a hair tie in my handbag. My hair won't look as bad in a ponytail,_ Sansa reasoned, trying to be positive.

 _My handbag!_ she exclaimed inwardly an eye blink afterwards, the colour draining from her face. She had left both her handbag and coat downstairs at Loras and Margaery's place! _Oh,_ _by the Seven_! She would have no choice but to go down and fetch them…

Sansa almost let out a sob at the notion. Completely distraught, she went out the bathroom, tears of consternation pearling at the corners of her eyes.

"It's almost ready. Take a place," Sandor bade her, his eyes finding her.

Sansa bit at her lip and nodded. She pulled herself a chair and sat down, all the while trying to think of way she could retrieve her things unnoticed. Hopefully both siblings were still asleep and that their apartment's door was unlocked. Her handbag and coat were both in Margaery's bedroom. If she were silent and fast enough, she could probably grab them and flee unobserved…

There was a mug filled with steaming coffee just in front of Sansa on the table, a pint of milk and a half empty box of sugar cubes. She felt so terrible both physically and mentally that all she wanted was to put her elbows on the table and lower her face into her hands, but she resisted the temptation and poured milk in the coffee instead. Her hands trembling faintly, she added sugar and took a small sip.

"So, you're friend with Margaery. You go to college with her?" Sandor inquired nonchalantly, peeking her way even as he filled two plates with the foods he had prepared.

Sansa gazed up at him. He was wearing the same tank top as yesterday at the party with a pair of black sweatpants and his long black hair was tied in a low ponytail. Her eyes fell on his arms. Gods, how big they were! There were some mean-looking scars over his bicep and forearms and she wondered for an instant if he had been in a car accident or something similar. That would explain the facial burns as well. "Yeah, I go to school with Margaery," she answered weakly, looking away. She took another sip of coffee, her pulse growing faster as she did. The beverage was apparently not agreeing with her nerves this morning and she thus decided not to drink more of it.

"You've known her for long?" Sandor asked when she didn't elaborate. As he did, he walked to the table with the plates and placed one just before Sansa, before sitting down in front of her.

Sansa looked down at her dish, her stomach turning as she saw the two sunny side up eggs Sandor had served her. Oh gods, she couldn't stand those, especially when the yolks were runny, which was obviously the case here… In fact, Sansa only liked scramble eggs and omelettes and always cooked hers completely. At least the bacon seemed good and crispy. Sandor had cooked himself four eggs and the pile of bacon he had on his own plate was quite frankly astonishing. _He got to feed those muscles,_ she concluded, eyeing his massive arms and chest. Thankfully, he had been less generous with her, though there was still far too much food on her plate.

"So?" Sandor insisted, taking a slice of bacon with his fingers and stuffing it whole into his mouth.

What did he want to know again? Oh right, Margaery. "I've known her for just a few months now," Sansa replied.

With very little enthusiasm, she took the fork and table knife that waited by her plate and cut herself a piece of bacon. As she had predicted, it was good indeed, yet it was nonetheless hard for her to swallow. She really had no appetite, unlike Sandor who had already eaten half an egg and more bacon.

"You were at another college before?" he asked, before gulping very noisily at his coffee.

"No, it's my first semester."

That seemed to surprise him and he instantly paused in his action of cutting himself another piece of egg. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

For a moment, Sandor contemplated her with a very serious air about him. His attention made Sansa uncomfortable and she averted her eyes, blushing a deep shade of pink. She was still not used to his scars and there was a strength to his stare that tightened the knot in her belly.

"You're younger than Margaery," he stated after several long and awkward seconds of silence.

"Yes. We only have an optional course together and became friend because we did a school project together," Sansa explained, her gaze still lowered to her dish. Margaery was in fact three years older than her and had decided to take her under her wing and show her around the city when they had met since Sansa was new to King's Landing.

His jaw clenching and unclenching, Sandor grunted and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Still legal at least," he muttered before resuming devouring his food.

The sound the toasts jumping in the toaster was shortly heard and Sandor rose from his chair. He brought back butter and jam and tossed a toast over Sansa's plate. _More food?_ she thought to herself, a bit nauseous. Yet, she forced herself to spread some jam over her toast and dutifully took a bite from it, before eating another piece of bacon.

With all the hunger she was lacking, Sandor was dipping pieces of generously buttered toast in his yolks and eating more of his bacon. "What do you study?" he demanded in between two bites.

Sansa shut her eyes, her headache increasing. She really didn't feel like chatting this morning and was starting to feel dizzy. Why did he have to ask so many questions? "Human Resources," she replied tiredly after a moment. Then she shook her head. This couldn't go on much longer, she really needed to leave and take a nap in her own bed. Unlike what Sandor had pretended, this food was not helping her at all and being by his side somehow made everything even more unbearable. She badly needed to be alone. "I… I'm not hungry… I'm sorry, Sandor… It was nice of you to cook for me, but I really need to get going now." As she finished speaking, she raised to her feet, feeling her legs wobble under her for a second or two.

Sandor was watching her from his place, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching faintly even as he kept chewing on his food. "Alright," he rasped once he had swallowed. Before she could take more than a few steps, he stood up and put himself in her way to block her. "But will you give me your number before you leave at least?"

Sansa gazed up at him, speechless. He was such a hulking man, as muscled as bull and with these scars on his face, he looked the antithesis of the sort of guy she'd normally agree to go on a date with. She could hardly wrap her head around the fact that she had slept with him last night and all her instincts told her she should run from this place as fast as she could and never look back.

Sandor seemed to read right through her, for he frowned and grunted. "What about I give you mine and you call me if ever you feel like it? Would you rather that?" he proposed a bit impatiently.

Her eyes wide, Sansa nodded anxiously.

"Good," Sandor rasped, his voice even rougher than before. Her pulse resounding loudly in her ears, Sansa watched as he tore off a piece a paper from the notepad he had on his fridge and wrote down his number over it. "Here. Don't lose it," he told her as he handed it to her afterwards.

"I won't," Sansa said meekly before hurrying to the exit, the little piece of paper crushed inside her first. Just as she opened the door, she turned around to glance at Sandor. He was still standing by the table, his stare on her and face set in a scowl. "Thank you for… for preparing breakfast for me… and for… for not having kicked me out after I fell asleep in your bed."

"No problem," Sandor replied flatly. And then Sansa turned her back to him and shut the door behind herself.


	5. Chapter 5

_Another chapter is already done. The same warnings apply. Not betaed. Not overly edited. At your own risks. If you enjoy, please comment. :)_

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As Sansa climbed down the stairs, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for having left Sandor's apartment so abruptly. She had barely touched the breakfast he had prepared her and she could tell he'd have liked her to stay a bit longer. Yet Sansa was far too hungover to wish for company, especially Sandor's. His presence was exceedingly overwhelming to her and she just couldn't deal with it, not this morning. First there was his unusual appearance and size but then, their age difference didn't help her feel comfortable either. He was without a doubt more than ten years older than her – certainly in his thirties even - and his reaction to learning she was eighteen was only confirmation of that.

It was really a wonder Sansa had agreed to have sex with him. She would never in a million years have been willing had she been in her right mind and sober. _He would probably have wanted to bang me again had I not left. That's why he was being so nice with me,_ Sansa reasoned, chasing her guilt away. Leaving before he finished his meal had been an enlightened initiative, for he might have made a move on her soon afterwards and then, she'd have had to repel his advances. She wasn't sure she could have dealt with the awkwardness which would have ensued from this and thus was relieved to have avoided it altogether.

As Sansa had hoped, the door to Loras and Margaery's apartment wasn't locked and she let out a deep sigh of relief as she felt the handle turn completely under her hand. She entered with great care not to make any noise, walking on her tiptoes. The place was an utter mess, she saw as she shut the door behind her. There were empty bottles and glasses everywhere, dirt and bags of potato chips on the floor, a box containing a half eaten pizza on the coffee table and the unmistakable scent of marihuana still hung in the air. Gods, it stunk! Her queasiness all the stronger for it, Sansa approached Margaery's bedroom, her heart dropping as she heard her friend's voice coming from inside. She was apparently talking on the phone.

 _Oh, by the Seven,_ Sansa thought, raising both her hands to her mouth. This was pretty much the worst case scenario! She'd have no choice but to face Margaery: she had left her handbag and as well as coat in her bedroom! For a short instant, she seriously considered turning back and running home without her things, yet she needed her keys in case Jeyne was not at their apartment. Besides, it would be cold outside without her coat. Gulping, she gathered her courage and knocked on the door.

"Wait a moment please," she heard Margaery tell whoever she was chatting with. "Loras, what do you want?" she asked, raising her voice.

"No… it's me, Sansa," Sansa murmured meekly. She shut her eyes in both apprehension and shame, gritting her teeth as she waited for an answer.

"Sansa?" Margaery repeated with in a mix of surprise and very obvious interest. Then addressing her phone interlocutor, she said: "I'll call you back later this morning, okay? Gotta go now."Less than a second of silence passed before she called her. "Oh, Sansa! Please come in!"

Opening her eyes, Sansa entered, feeling unsteady on her legs and as nervous as if she had been about to step on stage to sing before an auditorium full of people. From the moment she met her friend's eyes and saw the look of amazed shock in them, Sansa's cheeks grew bright red. "I'm just here to pick up my handbag and coat. I won't be staying," she hurried to inform her.

Margaery didn't seem to hear her. "Sansa! _You slept with Sandor!_ Oh!" she exclaimed even as a wide, disbelieving smile formed on her lips. She was lying on her bed with her upper-body propped against a pile of soft pillows and in her excitement, she clutched at her richly embroidered comforter. She was wearing a green silk pyjama, her curly brown hair falling in a stylish mess over her shoulders.

Sansa knitted her brow in despair and kept silent. She really didn't want to have this conversation, especially not in the horrible state she was in. Without waiting an instant, she began scanning the floor for her things. Finding them wouldn't be easy. Margaery's room was truly in clutter. There were piles of designer clothes and heels everywhere on the floor, mixed up with books and school papers.

"Sansa! You had sex with Sandor! Don't pretend like you didn't! _Everybody_ saw you leave with him!" Margaery insisted, a hint of firmness lacing her voice. Her friend never liked to be ignored.

At hearing her words, Sansa felt the pounding of her brow increase quite dramatically. "Oh? Has everyone really?" she demanded weakly, peeking her way timidly. The piece of paper with Sandor's phone number written on was still in her hand and she was fumbling at it anxiously, her palm sweating.

"Oh, yeah!" Margaery stated, her eyes wide and sparking with something in-between dismay and delight. "And those who didn't see you heard about it afterwards. You were all over each other on the dance floor! I was _sooo_ surprised! It's not like you at all! You're always so distant with boys! And Sansa! _With Sandor?_ I'd never – _ever_! – would have believed he was your type!"

"He's not. I was just very drunk," Sansa retorted as she finally spotted her bag in a corner of Margaery's room.

"Yeah, you were indeed. All you did was laugh and laugh. We could hear you even from the dance floor when you were in the kitchen with him! What were you doing over there?"

Sansa didn't answer and staggered to her handbag instead. She kneeled by its side and opened it, tossing the piece of paper she had kept in her hand inside. By the Maiden but she was dizzy...

Margaery didn't seem to mind her muteness this time around, for she kept on speaking. "Suzan was chatting with some guys in the kitchen while you were there. She told me Sandor threw you over his shoulder! What a beast! And you fell for that, Sansa?" she asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

A wave of mortification flowing over her, Sansa began searching for her coat with renewed urgency. Gods, she was having another bout of nausea now. Ugh, how horrible..."I didn't fall for him! I just... Oh, I don't know..."

"You don't know, I bet! You should be more careful with alcohol, Sansa! You're not used to it!" Margaery warned her, the look in her eyes very similar to that Sansa's mother had when she scolded her as a child. "I think Sandor saw a good occasion to bring a hot chick home and ran for it. With those ugly scars he has on his face, I'm not sure it happens that often for him. Oh! Did they not bother you at all while you did it with him?" she asked, a look of disgust twisting her pretty features. "I'll admit his body is impressive and I even did wonder myself a few times how it would be like to let him screw me, but I never truly considered it. I don't think I could go through with this! His face is too hard to look at. I mean, I like handsome guys and he looks more like your worse nightmare come true than a man you'd want to wake-up next to. You must have startled big time as you saw his face on the pillow next to you in the morning. Oh!" she exclaimed, bursting into laughter.

Sansa remembered that first time she had awoken today. Sandor's scars had startled her indeed. They were pretty intense and she had well and truly been repelled as she saw them under the morning light in all their grisly detail. Yet she couldn't help herself from feeling insulted for Sandor to hear him being mocked so pettily by Margaery. It was absurd. She had had very similar thoughts as her friend just instants before when she was with him. And she didn't even know him, so why should she care?

Margaery apparently took her silence for agreement. "I tried to keep this from happening, remember, Sansa? I asked you if he was bothering you while you were on the dance floor with him, but you said no. You've only yourself to blame for what happened."

"I know. He didn't force me either." With that, Sansa picked up her coat. She had found it on a fancy cushioned chair in a corner of the room under the flapper costume Margaery had worn yesterday night.

"Are you really going already, Sansa? You should stay a little! Here, join me inside. There's enough space for both of us," Margaery indicated, shifting aside over her mattress and tapping at the bed by her side. "You still didn't tell me how it was! I want to know all the details!"

Sansa put on her coat and frowned. Sharing her experience was the last thing she wished to do at the moment. "I don't feel like talking, Margaery. All I want is to go home and have a nap."

"It can wait a half hour, can it?" she insisted. "Now come and tell me _everything_. Gods, Sansa! He looks like such a brute and I'm really curious! Let me guess: he threw you over his bed from the moment you arrived at his place, tore of your clothes, pinned you down and mercilessly hammered you non-stop until he came – no foreplay whatsoever!" She giggled until her eyes went wide and she added in a mix of amusement and very light worry: "Oh! Did he put a condom on at least? Do you remember at all, Sansa?"

Sansa winced. Margaery's description was pretty accurate actually but she was not about to confirm it to her. "I'm tired. We'll see each other on Monday. Thanks for inviting me yesterday."

"Sansa! Don't go! At least tell me, was _it_ really big? I've always wondered about that-"

Without waiting for her friend to be done, Sansa exited the room and shut the door behind her, her cheeks burning hot. Turning a deaf ear to her repeated calls to come back, she hurried out the apartment and then, down the stairs and into the street. _Aah! Seven Heavens!_ Sansa complained inwardly as she started walking. Things had well and truly gone just as awfully as she had feared. _I'll think about it later,_ she decided, feeling her head pulsing in the most horrible manner imaginable.

The air outside was shockingly cold in comparison to Margaery and Loras' apartment and Sansa zipped up her coat and stuffed her hands into her pockets, shivering. You could really tell winter was coming. Last summer had lasted almost three years and she had been sad to recently see it come to an end. There was no knowing how long autumn would last though. Seasons were always so unpredictable. Perhaps they would have another year before snow started falling this far south, although in the north where she was from, it sometimes snowed in summer.

While Sansa's hangover was undeniably an epic one, she ended up walking home. Her place was only a fifteen minute walk from Margaery's and the coolness of the air had a sobering effect on her. She lived on the second floor of a completely renovated two hundred years old duplex at the very east of Flea Bottom. It was a relatively recent house in comparison to some of the other old buildings the city abounded with and especially, next to the Red Keep which perched high above them all at the highest point of King's Landing. She could see it from her place's balcony and Sansa liked to watch it as the sun set. The deep shade of ochre it took was simply amazing.

Flea Bottom had suffered through many major fires throughout its long history, so the architectural styles were very heterogeneous along the district's streets, which made it interesting as far as Sansa was concerned. The rents had been very cheap just a couple of decades before, from what she'd heard, and there used to be a lot of artists inhabiting the neighbourhood for that reason. These days, it had become a pretty hip area to live in and the rents had gone through the roof, but Sansa and Jeyne's apartment was relatively affordable since it was more than ten minutes afoot from the nearest subway station and situated on a busy street.

When she finally arrived on her doorstep and inserted her key in the keyhole, Sansa braced herself for facing Jeyne and being once more questioned. Her shame was mingling with guilt this time around though, for she felt remorse for having left her friend alone to come back home without a word of explanation. Most of all, she hoped she had not worried for her.

"Oh! Sansa, you're back!" Jeyne exclaimed from the moment she heard her enter.

Sansa left her coat in the entrance way and walked into the living room. Jeyne was slumped into their couch with a blanket thrown over her and wearing her powder blue flannel pyjama. Her eyes were wide and she had very obviously lost all interest in whatever program she had been watching on television.

"Hi," Sansa told her weakly, standing nervously in place in the doorway.

"Hello, Sansa... So... er... have you really spent the night at Margaery's upstairs neighbour's place?" she asked hesitantly, a perplexed expression on her face.

Sansa nodded, blushing. "I have."

Jeyne's eyes grew even more rounded, but she nodded ever so slightly, taking it in. "Ah. I wasn't sure what I should do when it was time for me to leave the party. I almost went upstairs to tell you I was going but I figured that you might be… well, _you know_ , so it was probably best I'd not disturb you. At least I thought."

"Thank you. I'm sorry I left you alone without a word. You did well not to fetch me though. I fell asleep in Sandor's bed and only woke up an hour ago…"

"Oh, so you didn't…"

Sansa's cheek grew even redder and she gazed down in embarrassment. "No, we did…" she admitted shyly.

Jeyne's stunned silence rendered Sansa even more anxious and she resumed speaking, eager for the moment to be over. "I know, it's not like me at all to do stuff like that and he's really not my type, but... I don't know, I was quite drunk yesterday I guess..."

"Well to be honest with you, I think you're very brave, Sansa! I'd have pissed myself in your place! He looks so scary! Even worse than those guys we see on that _Westeros' most wanted_ show we watch on Monday nights!"

While the words had been meant as a jape, Sansa could sense her friend genuinely meant them. She let out a short and very weary laugh, one that might have in fact have passed for a sob. "Yeah, we'll speak later though. All I've wanted ever since I've waked up was to take a shower and go back to sleep. I really gotta go."

"That's alright. Rest well," Jeyne replied as Sansa headed toward the bathroom.

Showering at last was such a relief and so very soothing. Sansa fell asleep in less than a minute when she laid in her bed afterwards and when she next came back to life, she felt much, much better.

"Oh, gods!" she whispered as she saw it was already 2:20PM. It was not like her to sleep so late!

Unlike a few hours before at Sandor's place, Sansa was very hungry now - starving even! - and so she was ecstatic when she saw Jeyne was heating spaghetti sauce and boiling water in a pan for pastas.

"Oh my gods! This looks so good, Jeyne!" she let out enthusiastically as she stirred the sauce with a long wooden spoon.

As they waited for the pastas to be cooked properly, Sansa prepared a tray of garlic bread with a thick layer of grated cheese over it and put it in the oven. Everything smelled delicious and they both sat around the kitchen table once all was ready, their mouth watering.

"Mmm!" Sansa was muttering as she chewed on her first bite. She felt unbelievingly better from the moment food entered her system. Sandor had been right in that she'd be hungry, only it had been too early for that while she was with him.

"So," Jeyne said in between two bites, speaking with her mouth full. "What are going to do about… about that guy, the neighbour?"

"Sandor? Oh, nothing I guess," Sansa replied, her mouth pulling in a frown. "I don't know what has gotten into me to agree to follow him. I drunk too much and lost all judgment."

Jeyne smiled at that and picked up a piece of garlic bread from the tray at the centre of the table. "I was so surprised to see you flirting with him! I'd never have thought you'd be interested in that sort of guy."

"It's not that I was interested, more like... curious," Sansa explained while rolling spaghetti around her fork.

"Oh, I see..." Jeyne said, though it was clear the difference evaded her. She paused for an instant, before glancing at Sansa out the corner of her eye, her face still titled down toward her plate. "And how was it?"

Sansa bit at her lip, startled by the question. "Well..." she hesitated.

"Did you like it?" Jeyne asked, gazing straight at her now.

Sansa paused to ponder about it. While at the end of their intercourse, she had _really_ needed Sandor to leave her alone, it had began pretty well from what she could remember. Margaery had guessed right in that Sandor was animalistic and rough in bed but Sansa, well... she _had_ enjoyed it. A lot. In fact, she had never been so aroused while having sex and the notion of it made her slightly uneasy. Yet Sansa was not about to lie to Jeyne. They shared everything and unlike Margaery, she knew she could trust her to keep a secret.

"Yeah, I did," Sansa admitted a bit reluctantly.

Jeyne smiled, but the surprise in her eyes was unmistakable. "Well, that's great then, Sansa," she told her.

Both of them resumed eating and a minute passed during which all that could be heard in the kitchen was the sound of their cutlery coming in contact with their dishes and the noises they made as they devoured their pastas. Yet eventually, Jeyne broke the silence, her voice small as it always got when she was shy about something but still wanted to get it out.

"So... was it... was it real big?"

Sansa almost choked on her food. She had not expected that from Jeyne! Her friend's cheeks were a deep shade of pink and she was staring at her plate with a wide grin on her face.

"Oh, Jeyne!" Sansa exclaimed, her eyes wide. "It was HUGE!"

And at that, both of them burst out laughing.


	6. Chapter 6

_Wow! Another chapter for this story is already done! I hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment if you do! :)_

* * *

When Monday came, Sansa was totally terrified. While she knew Jeyne didn't judge her for her lapse at the party, she would now have to face many other people at school. People who had not known her for nearly as long and who couldn't be sure Sansa's Friday night's actions were totally out of character for her. In fact, since Sansa came from the North, she hadn't known anyone apart from Jeyne when she had arrived at the Baelor College at the beginning of the semester. They had both left their lives at Winter Town to study in the South together. Sansa had been glad to have her childhood friend with her for this grand adventure that was their move to Westeros's biggest city and was all the more happy now that she had misbehaved under the influence of too many drinks. Whatever happened, she knew she could count on her support.

Jeyne and she had known each other from the time they still both wore diapers. Jeyne's father was one of Sansa's parents' most loyal and trusted employees. He had worked at _Winterfell's Castle Resort and Spa_ for now more than twenty years as supply manager and event planner. Whenever Sansa's parents both needed to leave the resort, they always left him in charge.

Sansa's family were the heirs to a legacy many thousands of years old. They were Starks and their ancestors had once ruled the North, many centuries ago, as kings and later, lords. While her father was still a lord in principal, titles didn't mean much since the Seven Kingdoms had become a republic more than two hundred years before. He still proudly held to his though. He said it gave prestige to their resort. People were drawn to what reminded them of these ages long passed when Westeros was still ruled by lords and ladies. Many were ready to pay a fortune to celebrate their wedding in such a grand estate as Winterfell and sleep in one of the _War of the Five Kings_ _era_ -like rooms they had available at the castle – though these chamber thankfully also included very modern amenities for their guests' comfort. There were limits to how far people were willing to go in their thirst for historical accuracy.

Turning Winterfell into a resort had been Sansa's great-grandfather's idea. Maintaining a castle as big as theirs was not cheap and the families' fortune had continuously decreased since the Revolution. For a moment, he'd feared eventually being forced to either sell the castle or some or the huge lands which had been attached to it for millenniums.

Thankfully before any of this came to happen, he decided to give a try at opening the castle to visitors. The move was an instant success. Winterfell had many assets which made it an ideal holiday destination. It was one of Westeros' most perfectly preserved castles and its hot spring with its many warm pools to relax in had become extremely popular over the years. Furthermore, the natural beauty of the surroundings was breathtaking. There were many sites to visit, among which the Wolfwood national forest right at the castle's very doorsteps, the White Knife River with its amazing rapids perfect for rafting, the Northern Mountains National Park an hour and a half drive north and even further north, the very ancient, legendary and always so mysterious Wall. With his visionary idea, Sansa's great-grandfather had been a true pioneer - one of the very first to open the North to tourism at a time when people still thought of the region as backward, secluded and austere.

Although Sansa was very proud of her origins, she was always shy to mention them in her new environment and usually refrained from revealing the whole truth of her lineage to her college friends. She was afraid they would think her a snob because of it. Margaery knew about it and while she had been impressed, Sansa had also sensed that the notion had upset and made her jealous when she first learned about it. Though her parents were far wealthier than Sansa's - who did live well, but always had to reinvest the lion's share of their profits into the resort - they didn't have any title. They had only recently come to riches when their gardening business had started to prosper some twenty years ago. Sansa could tell she was envious even if herself, she really didn't make a big deal out of it. Ever since then, Margaery had kept repeating to Sansa that she should introduce her to Robb, her older brother, so that they fell in love and that she became a lady as well. It was meant as a jape, but Sansa knew she wouldn't hate it either.

While Sansa was usually among the firsts to arrive in class, she took place in her chair at the very last instant for the first time of the semester that morning, fearing that she might be questioned by some of her classmates if she arrived early. As her marketing teacher showed the class graphics on the large projection screen on the wall, Sansa kept her stare straight ahead, but she could feel gazes on her. People were whispering. Were they talking about her? _I'm being paranoid. None of them were at the part_ y, Sansa thought, though she was not convinced she had no reason to worry. Rumours could spread so fast on campus after all! Her actions of Friday night could very well already be known by all and her reputation tarnished for good…

Later on, Sansa sat in the cafeteria, eating some spaghetti leftover from Saturday afternoon directly from the plastic container it was stored in. She was reading an article about labour legislation in preparation for her next course, all the while chewing on her last bite of pastas when to her dismay, she saw Margaery and Loras were approaching her. Both siblings were dressed stylishly as always, Margaery in a skin-tight purple dress and taupe heels and Loras in a v-neck dark sweater and beige trousers.

"Feeling better now, Sansa?" Loras inquired pleasantly.

Peeking at them, Sansa nodded nervously. "Yes," she said, before immediately returning her attention to her article, hoping that they would think her busy and leave her alone. Sadly the stratagem didn't work and each took place in front of her. Either of them had a box of sushi take-out and installed it on the table.

"Well, that's good to hear then," Loras continued as he opened his box's lid and took his chopsticks in hand. "You were pretty tipsy on Friday at the party and Margaery told me all about the epic hangover you had on Saturday morning."

"Stop it, Loras, she doesn't want to talk about it," Margaery admonished her brother. "Isn't that true, Sansa?" she asked, looking at her slyly.

Even before Sansa could think of something to say, Loras went on. "Sansa has nothing to be ashamed of. We each had our night where we were drunker than we should and made a mistake or two. I know I have at least." He chuckled at that, his gaze lost for an instant in some distant and apparently very amusing memory.

Margaery rolled her eyes, her lips curving upward slightly. "Oh, of course! I'm no different. I'll admit I'm not proud of everyone I've slept with either," she agreed, dipping a piece of sushi in soya sauce.

Sansa smiled stiffly, feeling exceedingly ill-at-ease. She had no interest in learning whom each of them judged had been their least covetable lover to date and would rather they simply let the matter drop - or even better yet, that they left her alone.

"It's a pity though," Loras continued more seriously, apparently oblivious to how uncomfortable Sansa was. "You know Pod has a huge crush on you? He told me at the beginning of the party that he would pluck up his courage once and for all and ask you on a date before the night was over. But before he had a chance to make his move, our hulking upstairs neighbour was already monopolising you. There was no way that poor and shy thing approached you with such a beast by your side. Not sure Sandor would have left him either..."

Sansa bit at her lip and furrowed her brow, distractedly gazing down at the empty plastic container before her. Had Pod really been interested in her? She'd never have guessed. He barely ever spoke to her.

"Funny thing is, Podrick was dressed up as a zombie. But you ended up with the real deal. You chose the real life zombie-like guy of the place." At that, Loras laughed heartily, Margaery joining in.

Frowning, Sansa eyed them reprovingly. "This is really mean," she said without thinking.

"Protective of Sandor now, are you?" Margaery commented, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at her. "Why should you care? I thought you regretted having slept with him."

Sansa looked away, her lips set in a thin line. "That I do or not doesn't change that it's not Sandor's fault if he has those scars. I don't think it's right to mock someone for their appearance."

"Oh! Don't worry about him, Sansa!" Loras waved her worry with the back of his hand even as he held a piece of sushi with his chopstick. "He'd be the first to mock his scars if he was here. He does it all the time!"

Sansa didn't add a word to that, but she was not convinced by Loras' argument. While she had no doubt Sandor indeed did poke fun at his burns, she had a hard time believing they didn't bother him at all. He had every right to jeer at them himself, yet it was not fair that others did as well. Making fun of someone else's imperfection was really rude and petty.

"You know you slept with a thirty-three years old man, Sansa?" Loras suddenly informed her out of nowhere, chewing on a piece of sushi.

Sansa jumped in place in her seat. "Really?" she demanded, her eyes wide.

"Yes you did," he stated, sounding pleased. Margaery was smiling, though with her mouth being full, she did it with her lips closed.

While Sansa had known already Sandor had to be around that age, to hear it loud and clear still took her aback. Oh gods, what would her mother do if she knew? _Doesn't matter, this is not something she'll ever learn,_ Sansa reasoned, her palms growing clammy.

Loras was laughing, a wide grin on his handsome face. "I told Sandor as well that you were just eighteen when I saw him in the staircase yesterday. He didn't seem too thrilled either, but only grunted and went away. Not the most talkative of guys, as you may have noticed."

Well in fact, Sansa had not. He had talked aplenty when she was with him. Especially in the morning afterwards. He had kept asking her questions even though chatting was the last thing she wanted. Strangely enough today, Sansa was in a very similar frame of mind. She opened her satchel and slid the article she had been reading into it as well as her empty plastic container.

"It was nice talking to you both, yet I need to go back to class now," Sansa informed Loras and Margaery, standing from her seat. It wasn't true. She still had more than an hour before her until her next course began. She simply didn't feel like staying with them and besides, she needed to finish reading her labour legislation treatise in the time she had left.

Thankfully, neither of them insisted and she headed to the library where she hoped she would find the peace she craved.

* * *

As the week went on, Sansa progressively came to term with her slip at Margaery and Loras' Strangerween party. Sleeping with Sandor had been a mistake, yes, but it was not the end of the world either. Everyone did a few faux pas while in college, as Loras and Margaery had assured her on Monday at the cafeteria. It was only natural that it happened to her as well. It was no big deal and in the end, she was lucky to have had her one night stand with someone who didn't go to school with her. At least she didn't have to face him every day. Yet she could tell people were talking. Rumours had gotten around. While it did bother Sansa, she was resolute not to let it affect her too much. Gossips were always quickly forgotten and so the best she could do was to act as if nothing had happened and keep her usual agreeable attitude and easy smile.

And indeed after just a couple of days, Sansa started feeling less shy around her classmates again, for she didn't sense that they were truly judging her. She concluded she had made a bigger deal out of the situation than it actually was and though this was an undeniable relief, some aspects of the incident continued to bother her…

For some reason, turning the page on Sandor himself proved harder than one might have predicated. The memory of him would often come to her in the most random moments possible. Worse, when she did think about him, it was not to shake her head in shame as she'd have expected. No, it was to blush at the recollection of their encounter, her stomach fluttering.

But it was not right! Thinking about him shouldn't make her feel that way! As she had told Margaery, Loras and most of all, Jeyne, many times over the last few days, Sandor was not her type _at all_! In fact, he was pretty much the last guy on earth she'd ever want to date. There was nothing about him that appealed to her! First off, he was not handsome, his features being too broad and sharp for that, but then on top of that there were those scars he had all over the right side of his face. And while Sansa did like a tall guy, Sandor's height was quite literally over the top and he was freakishly muscular as well. To add to that, she could tell by the way he spoke that he was not overly educated. She wondered what short of job he did.

And yet in spite of how much she'd have wished it otherwise, there was no denying there had been something about him. Her body had reacted to him to an intensity she had never experienced before. The notion was really frustrating, because she had never willed it to happen. It was so unfair! She wasn't supposed to be attracted to the most brutish man she'd ever met! And yet every single night following the party, despite herself she had replayed the sex they had had in her mind as she waited for sleep to find her. Shivers had gone down her body as she recalled how his huge hands had felt on her and how his powerful build had crushed her as he took her robustly. There was no denying that to be at the other end of his desire had been thrilling. It had made her feel so wanted...

The worst of it all was that in those nocturnal instances, she had... she had become aroused. Oh, by the Maiden! It was embarrassing... but, yes... she had... touched herself afterwards... It had left her a strong enough impression for that, though she'd certainly have rather it had not.

In a way, Sansa felt as if her body had let her down. It was meant to obey her! And she had decided long ago that she liked well dressed, ambitious and well-spoken young guys of her age with handsome features and an interest in culture, politics and science. So why was her body telling her she needed that thirty-three years old disfigured man who spoke as coarsely as a truck driver and had come to the party dressed with less care than some did to go to their own kitchen?

* * *

On Thursday afternoon, Sansa was in class, distractedly listening to her art teacher as he lectured them about the evolution of painting from 400 to 500AC. It was Sansa's optional class, the one she had met Margaery at, and both girls were sitting side by side. Her friend had stopped asking her questions about Sandor now. In fact, she had not mentioned him since Monday at the cafeteria and had apparently lost all interest in the matter seeing that Sansa did not want to share any detail of her one night stand with her. Moreover, Margaery's attention had been totally grasped by a guy she had met online yesterday and she now couldn't stop talking about him even though they had yet to see each other for real.

"He's so hot! Oh my gods, Sansa, look at that!" she had told her earlier as they waited for the teacher to arrive.

Margaery had showed her a picture of the guy in question on her phone. It was a selfie taken before a mirror and he was shirtless over it and sporting a little smirk, his brow knitted. His chest and arms were sculpted and he even had a six pack, yet he was nowhere as muscular as Sandor, Sansa had remarked inwardly. Not at all even, but it was not surprising given that she'd never met anyone as brawny as him. There was not a hair on Margaery's crush's torso. He had probably had it removed, either by shaving or waxing it. Sansa had always believed she preferred men not to be too hairy, yet now she couldn't help but feel that this guy Margaery was interested in didn't look very manly. Or at least, not as manly as Sandor.

 _Oh, by the Seven! Why am I thinking about him again?_ she wondered, despondent. But it was no good. No matter how hard she tried to keep her attention on what the teacher was saying, she couldn't stop her mind from wandering back to the memory of him. Gods, that was annoying.

 _Perhaps... perhaps I should..._ Sansa mused for the tenth time today, her pulse resounding loudly in her ears. She wasn't sure what to think of her most recent idea. She had tried to chase it away at first, but it kept coming back...

Since she apparently couldn't simply forget about him, Sansa had figured she might as well give Sandor a call. He had seemingly really wished to see her again, so he shouldn't mind it if she did. If they met again, chances were high Sansa would be reminded of just how much he wasn't her type. To see him for real would put an end to her foolish reverie about him. That was the hope at least. She had even searched him out on facelog yesterday evening for that reason - thinking that she might save herself an awkward evening - however, she didn't know his last name and he was neither a friend of Loras or Margaery, thus her attempt had been unfruitful.

 _I'll call him after class,_ Sansa resolved, clutching her hands together over her lap. She had no clue what they'd do when they saw each other, or if it would be fun at all - they barely knew each other after all. _I'll leave early if I'm too ill-at-ease and tell Sandor I'm tired._ She only wanted to get a good look at the man again and assess him with a clear head, which she had neither been able to do at the party or on the morning after. And if by any chance Sansa was not too horrified and that they ended up having sex again, well she would either realise her memory of his effect on her and performance had been enhance by her drunken state, or she would enjoy herself - which would be great of course. In the end, either outcome would be just as positive as the next, so there really was no reason that she wavered on whether to ring him on not.

Though to be honest, Sansa did worry that she might truly enjoy it, for what would she do in that case? She couldn't very well start dating _him_! Her only goal with this endeavour was to set the records straight. The prospect that she might actually wish to repeat the experience afterwards was a bit nerve-racking. What if their _thing_ became more serious? Never in a million years could she introduce that sort of man to her parents! They would have a heart attack on the spot, the both of them! _Don't be absurd! This won't ever happen of course!_ she reassured herself, trying to be reasonable.

Once their art course was over, Margaery left without a word to Sansa, simply nodding at her while still looking at photos of her new crush on her phone. Sansa herself stayed in her seat for a few minutes, the classroom gradually becoming completely empty. _If I call him and we go on a date, what will I do if we stumble on someone I know?_ she wondered then Sansa remembered all her school friend already knew she had slept with Margaery's upstairs neighbour, so it couldn't be worse than it already was.

 _Alright, alright, I'm calling him. Now. Or perhaps I could just send him a text?_ Sansa hesitated, her heart beating madly in her chest. Her hands trembling, she opened her handbag and started fumbling through it. Moving her wallet, makeup, keys, and granola bar around, she kept searching but couldn't find the piece of paper Sandor had given her. _I've put it in there. I can recall it clearly,_ she reflected, her anxiety rising. Each of her movements brusque, she took everything out of her handbag and pilled it all on the table before her, convinced that she would retrieve the piece of paper at the bottom of her handbag. Yet in the end, still she had not found it. It had well and truly disappeared! _Oh my gods!_ Sansa cried out inwardly, raising both her hands to her face.

Taking a deep breath, she attempted to calm down and stay positive. _It's probably home. I could have left it on my desk or it could have fallen on the floor in my room,_ she mused, though her hope was scant. Without waiting an instant, she threw everything back into her handbag and hurried home. She walked super fast and got there in only twenty minutes. When she arrived, she ran to her room and immediately started combing through the place for the small piece of paper with Sandor's number written on it, yet it was nowhere to be found. She even emptied her garbage can over the ground, but it wasn't in there either. She had well and truly lost it!

Alerted by the racket she made, Jeyne entered Sansa's chamber just as the latter had abandoned her search. "What is it, Sansa? What's happening, are you alright?" she asked, with obvious concern.

Sansa let out something in between a moan and a sob. She was sitting on the floor with the content of her garbage can surrounding her and her normally tidy room was completely upside down. "I've lost it!" she cried weakly.

"What have you lost?"

Sansa wavered. "Sandor's number," she said, her voice small and shy. Her cheeks were burning hot.

Jeyne's eyes went wide with surprise. "Oh... So you'd like to see him again after all?"

Sansa bit at her lip and looked down. "Yeah?" she replied with a total lack of assurance. But then she gulped and sighed deeply. "Yes, I would," she admitted.

But she had lost his number... What was she going to do?


	7. Chapter 7

_Hi everyone! Another chapter for this story is done! I think I should warn you all that I went back made a little change to Sansa's back-story. When I first started writing this fic, I had no idea it would become something more and didn't think ahead. So very logically, I had written Joffrey as Sansa's ex. Yet I've changed it and her ex boyfriend is now Harry. The reason for this change is that I don't want Sansa and Sandor to know the same crowd and so Sansa cannot have dated a Lannister, otherwise everything would become far too complicated._

 _Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please comment if you do! :D_

* * *

Sandor was slumped into his couch with his legs propped over the coffee table, drinking a beer and eating a slice of all-dressed pizza all the while disinterestedly watching rugby on television. He had come home from the building site he was currently working at a couple of hours before, had taken a shower and changed to an old pair of green combat pants and a black t-shirt. Jaime had arrived some time later with a large pizza and a family size portion of fries and they had both started devouring everything almost from that very moment.

"Why didn't you get two?" Sandor complained once the pizza box was empty just a few minutes later, its greasy bottom exposed. "I told you to buy two, didn't I?"

"You have, but honesty, I think one was enough. You really want us to get fat, Sandor?" Jaime replied, furrowing his brow at him. He was installed on the armchair next to Sandor's couch and wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. "We're not getting any younger, you know. We need to be more careful with what we eat."

Sandor rolled his eyes. At the size he was and at the rate he worked out, he could eat a horse for breakfast every morning and still not gain a damned pound. "Talk for yourself, you old bugger," he scoffed, before taking a long swallow from his beer bottle.

Sandor was not nearly sated and he would probably need to fix himself something else before the game was over, thanks to Jaime's ludicrous' concerns. _The bugger! If he's so preoccupied about his bloody weight, then why eat half of the pizza and fries?_ He could've left a bit more to Sandor at least. He was always so starving at the end of his shifts.

While Sandor's job was not the most physical out there, as an electrician he still spent most of his days standing and always remained active. That was one of the reasons he had ended up choosing the certificate program when he'd decided he had had enough of being a bouncer a few years ago. Sandor couldn't envision himself working in an office and sitting behind a desk all day and besides, he had not wished to spend too many years at school either. The electrician program he had completed lasted only a year and a half with another year spent as an apprentice, which had been long enough already as far as he was concerned anyway. He had not been very eager to go back to school, for he hadn't liked it much the first time around.

As a child and teenager, Sandor had never been a very assiduous student. He excelled in sports and could have good grades if a subject interested him, yet if it didn't, he would have horrible results. Furthermore, he never studied or did any homework. By the time he was a teenager, he had already started getting into trouble, skipping class, drinking and taking drugs. It was a true miracle he didn't end up dropping out of high school before he'd gotten his diploma. For ten years following his graduation, Sandor had earned his living mainly thanks to his muscles and fearsome looks. There had always been work for him as a bouncer. Nevertheless by the time he was twenty eight, he decided he had had enough of the lifestyle he led and figured it was time he found himself a real career. The decision to go back to school had not been an easy one to take. He had needed to give himself a major kick in the ass in order to act on his idea and enroll in his program.

Still looking back, Sandor had absolutely no regret. It was probably the best move he'd ever made, for his sacrifice had definitely paid off. Once his apprenticeship had been over, he had not lost an instant starting his own one-man company and he now wouldn't trade his situation for any other. Being self-employed gave him a sense of freedom he had never known before. It was nice not to have a boss and go from contract to contract - to be _his own dog_ as he liked to say. Moreover, he had had enough of working late into the night and preferred by far waking up at dawn as he did almost every day now to going to bed around the same time.

Jaime was sitting at the edge of his seat now, his stare glued to the flat screen on the living room's wall. "Oh! That's a good one!" he exclaimed suddenly, his whole body jerking in enthusiasm. In the background, the roar of the crowd could be heard coming from the television set's speakers.

Sandor let out a dispassionate grunt, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching. Yarning, he stretched, before taking another pull from his beer.

Jaime and he had known each other for many years now - ever since Sandor's beginnings as a bouncer, not long after he had finished high school. He was the son of a very well known, wealthy bar and club owner – Sandor's ex boss in fact - though he had cut ties with his family not long after Sandor had gone back to school. For some reason, they had kept hanging out and watching rugby games together from time to time, although Sandor often wondered why. Jaime could really get on his nerves sometimes and he kept cursing and insulting him whenever they saw each other.

The commentators were getting increasingly frantic, the roar of the crowd growing stronger and stronger behind them, yet Sandor was barely listening to what they were saying. He couldn't have cared less about the outcome of the game today. At least the beer was good. Keeping his gaze on the television screen, he brought the neck of his beer bottle to his lips, but sighed in annoyance at realising it was empty apart from one lukewarm and flat little sip.

"Want another beer?" he muttered as he stood from his couch.

"Yeah, why not, man," Jaime replied, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

Once he was back in the living room, Sandor handed his friend a beer bottle and Jaime jumped from his seat and rose to his feet almost at the same instant. "Oh, yeah! We're winning! We're fucking going to win tonight!" he cried out, his features alive with envisioned triumph.

The advertising break started then, and he finally took his gaze away from the television. Giving Sandor a perplexed look, he sat back into his armchair. "What's up with you, Sandor? You seem distracted tonight and in an even worse mood than usual."

Sandor slumped back into his couch and opened his beer, throwing the bottle's cap over the empty pizza box on the coffee table. "Nothing special. Just a bit tired. I started working at 6:30AM this morning. I had a long shift," he rasped, before taking a swallow of beer.

Jaime eyed him suspiciously but didn't insist further. He knew Sandor well enough by now to realise being too inquisitive would only lead him to shut up even more. If he wished for him to confide in him, he was best to wait until Sandor felt like talking. There was no use in probing him.

Still, there was no denying that Jaime had guessed right and that Sandor was preoccupied. Ever since that Strangerween party he had went to on last Friday, he had not been able to stop thinking about that girl he had brought home, Sansa she was called.

Somewhere throughout the previous week, the two Tyrell siblings from downstairs' apartment had knocked on his door and told him they would throw a party for Strangerween and that he should thus expect some noise on Friday night. He was welcome to join them if he wished, they had told him, but Sandor had not been interested. What the fuck was a thirty three years old man supposed to do with a bunch of college kids? Besides, the Tyrells could be so bloody obnoxious and snotty, their friends couldn't be much better.

But then when Friday night came, Sandor had had nothing planned and when he returned home from the gym, the party had been in full swing. After a half-hour of listening to the bass from downstairs over the sound of the movie he was trying to watch, he figured he might as well have a beer at the Tyrells' apartment. He had not expected much, just the usual overly excited, drunk college kids who didn't know how to hold their liquor. He had seen plenty of that during his time working as a bouncer.

Yet when Sandor arrived, amidst all the partygoers, there had been one girl who stood out in his eyes. A pretty little princess who seemed to have come straight out of a bloody fairy tale with her long, corseted gown, fair skin and fiery curls. He had spotted her from the moment he stepped in, dancing in the living room with a group of friends. Sandor had been captivated by her from the moment he set eyes on her. She was exceedingly beautiful, more than any woman he had even seen, with her delicate features, wide blue eyes, long auburn hair and smashing body. Though she danced like a bloody goddess, there had been nothing provocative or suggestive in the way she moved and Sandor had found it even more enticing for that reason. Even before they had exchanged a single word, he could already sense just how much of a genuine person she was; it was obvious in the way she smiled and looked at the world around her. While there were many pretty girls on the dance floor, she shone among them so brightly that Sandor had wondered how it was possible that everyone's attention was not fixed upon her.

As for himself, he had had to constantly remind himself not to stare straight out at her and risk coming off as this creepy older guy, though that was probably what he was to be honest. In the end the girl had apparently sensed his gaze on her anyway, for she had been the one introducing herself to him. _I'm Sansa,_ she had told him with that soft voice of hers. A very pretty name for a very pretty girl - one that suited her perfectly, Sandor had thought.

The poor thing had put her foot in her mouth by remarking on how realistic his burns looked, thinking they were part of a Strangerween disguise of some sort, although he had clearly not been dressed up. Truth be told, Sandor hadn't minded it. It wasn't the first time someone believed his scars not to be real and neither would it be the last in all likeness. Besides, her embarrassment at learning of her blunder had been quite fetching. He had liked the look of her with her cheeks all red and blue eyes even wider than before.

Sandor had no delusions. He knew he was far from the best-looking guy out there, yet he also knew persistence could get a man astonishingly far sometimes. If you longed for something, that it be money, a job or a woman, you could never hope to win it by staying idle in your corner. One needed to give it all he had, that his goal be realistic or not, for no one ever got anything if they didn't attempt to obtain it first. Therefore after Sansa had first talked to him, Sandor had not left her side for the remaining of the evening and made his interest in her crystal clear.

And it had paid off in the end, because after about an hour of dancing with her, Sandor had somehow managed to convince Sansa she should follow him to his apartment. The fact that she had been drunk had undeniably played in his favour. Chances were high the girl wouldn't have agreed to have sex with him had she been sober - Sandor had not fooled himself about it even then. He knew he should probably be ashamed of himself for having made the most of such a situation. On the other hand, he had not forced her either and she had even been pretty eager to begin with. Hells, she had even jumped on his cock and began sucking him from the moment he had taken off his jeans...

Still, Sansa was much younger than him, just eighteen, and visibly not used to drinking. A true gentleman would have paid her a cab home, not dragged her to his place and screwed her. Sandor let out a faint snort at the thought. He was no buggering gentleman and neither had he any intention of becoming one anytime soon, especially seeing what it would've made him miss.

While they were still at the party, Sandor had believed Sansa to be around Margaery's age - twenty one or two perhaps. The illusion had been easy to maintain in the dimness of the Tyrell's apartment and then later on, the darkness of his bedroom. Things had changed on the following morning. Even before she told him she was eighteen, at beholding her delicate, sleeping features under the sunlight, Sandor had had an inkling that she had to be younger than he had first surmised.

That he had fucked a barely legal college girl was no true problem to Sandor though. Not at all even, he had done far worse things in his life and never lost a minute of sleep over it. In fact he was so little repentant that he had not hesitated to ask her for her phone number before she left his place. Resuming where they had left it when the girl had passed out had been in the back of his mind, there was no denying it, nevertheless his desire to see her again was not just about that. The truth was, Sandor had been genuinely curious about her. She seemed so different from the sort of women he had had flings with in the past.

It was just too bad the girl didn't share his curiosity. The look on her face when he had asked her for her number had made that plain enough. She had been all but petrified in place for a few seconds and though she had not refused to take his own number when he gave it to her instead, Sandor was pretty sure the paper he had written it on had found its way to her garbage can from the moment she arrived home. _Doesn't matter,_ he reasoned, scowling at the television screen. _She's just a bloody eighteen years old girl from a posh college, and what the fuck could a man of my sort have in common with her really? Not sure we'd have had anything to talk about at all._ Still, having sex with her again would have been nice, there was no lying about that. Sandor would've liked to give it another try...

The commercial break had ended now and Jaime was once more sitting at the edge of his seat, his hands closed in fists as he cursed at the television set. Things were not going so well for King's Landing's team anymore, but Sandor couldn't have cared less. Sighing, he took a swig from his beer bottle. Was the game over soon? He'd have rather be alone this evening, yet Jaime always came at his place for important games and he had not cancelled, thinking that having a bit of company might improve his mood.

Sandor was taking another sip of beer when the bell suddenly rang. He raised his good eyebrow and growled. Who the fuck could that be? He wasn't expecting anyone. _Most likely some of those buggering R'hllor fanatics again, going from door to door, trying to convert people,_ Sandor gathered irritably. For a moment, he considered not answering at all, but then for some reason, he stood up and walked to the intercom.

"Who's this?" he demanded in his most rough and intimidating tone, his finger pressed on the 'talk' button.

There was silence at the other end of the line, plus a bit of interference, and for a moment, Sandor thought he had managed to scare the bastard away as easily as that, but then a soft voice was heard. "Hi, Sandor? It's me, Sansa... the girl from last's week party."

Sandor's breath caught in his throat and he was too stunned to react at first. _The girl from last's week party,_ he repeated inwardly, almost letting out a disbelieving snort. As if he needed her to refresh his memory.

"Hi," he finally replied a bit too curtly to his taste. "Come on up," he bade her, pressing at the 'door' button.

When he turned around, Jaime was watching him with a queer spark in his eyes, his curiosity very obviously piqued. He wasn't even staring at the screen anymore and it took a lot to take his attention from a rugby game. "Sansa?" he inquired. "Who's Sansa? You haven't told me about her."

Sandor winced and looked away. "Yeah, I haven't," he agreed, opening the door.

Though it wasn't like him, Sandor felt a little nervous. He had no bloody clue why Sansa had decided to drop by, had not expected this to happen at all! She had not forgotten any of her belongings at his place, he'd have noticed to be sure if she had, so she must want to see him. He had stopped hoping she would call him very early on, had not really believed she would from the moment she left his apartment on Saturday morning. _Why by the Seven bloody Hells does Jaime have to be there?_ Sandor wondered, glaring in the man's direction. Jaime was watching him through rounded eyes, a little smirk playing on his lips.

When Sansa appeared in the staircase, Sandor felt his pulse hasten. She was just as striking as he remembered, though it was strange to see her not dressed in her princess gown. Her long hair was not loose as last time but fixed in a high bun over her head and she was wearing tight blue jeans with fashionably ripped knees and turquoise converses. Her legs looked really nice in those jeans - long, lean and shapely. Her coat was unzipped and underneath, she wore a navy blue hoodie with the inscription 'Baelor College' written in all capital letters over it.

Sansa smiled shyly at him as she arrived on the landing, her cheeks pink as she met his gaze. "Hello, Sandor," she said in a small voice, glancing down just as soon. "I'm sorry to come here without calling you first."

"That's alright, you're not bothering me," Sandor answered at once. Of its own accord, his mouth curved in a small smile. She looked so bloody timid and yet here she was, turning up at his place as if by magic. Once more, Sandor cursed inwardly the fact that Jaime had to be here. Looking back, he should've kicked him out the back door from the moment he heard Sansa's voice through the intercom, but it was too late now. "Come on in," he told her, moving from the doorway.

Sansa entered, her eyes widening as her gaze fell on Jaime. He was smiling pleasantly at her, though the look of surprise on his face was unmistakable. He had not expected a girl of Sansa's type to appear through Sandor's entrance and was probably wondering what the hells was going on. "Nice meeting you, Sansa," he saluted her, rising to his feet. Then, he walked to her and shook her hand. "I'm Jaime, a good friend of Sandor," he added, clasping a hand to his shoulder.

"Oh, nice meeting you," she responded, obviously ill-at-ease. "I'm sorry, I... I really don't want to interrupt what you were doing..."

"Not at all!" Jaime assured her, looking down at her with his most sincere grin on his lips.

Sandor glowered at him over Sansa's head for a very short instant, just long enough to let Jaime understand that he wanted him to give them a bit of intimacy. The man shrugged apologetically and headed back to his seat. "Hmm, I'll leave you two to talk for a moment," he stated, sitting down.

Though Jaime pretended turning his attention back to the game, Sandor could tell he had his ears pricked up and was watching them out the corner of his eyes. From his place on his armchair, he had a direct view of the entrance way and thus Sandor shifted in his position to put his back to him in such a manner that Jaime couldn't see Sansa anymore.

"Want a beer?" Sandor offered her.

"Oh, no. Thank you. I was just passing by, I'll not be staying." From the way she kept fidgeting with the strap of her handbag and apparently couldn't maintain eye contact with him for more than a couple of seconds at a time, Sandor could tell he was making her nervous. He really wished he could put her at ease but wasn't sure how to do it.

"You sure? We're watching the rugby game. You could stay if you wanted." If she agreed, Sandor would get Jaime in a corner and tell him to find a likely excuse to get the fuck out of here. He would agree. For all Sandor had to say against him, Jaime was not truly that bad.

Sadly though, Sansa shook her head. "I need to study, I have an exam tomorrow. I was just wondering if you could... if you could give me your number again. I've lost it."

"You have?" Sandor rasped, his smile broadening slightly in spite of himself. "Yeah, I'll give it to you again. No problem of course." So that was why she was here after all. She had lost his number. _That means she has wanted to call me,_ he mused, the turn of event quite frankly baffling him.

After having fumbled through her handbag for a short instant, Sansa fished out her cell phone and unlocked its screen. "I won't lose it if I enter it directly in my phone this time around," she commented, her voice very soft.

Sandor nodded in agreement. "Yeah, good idea. Give it to me and I'll call myself with it so that I have your number as well."

The girl stiffened noticeably, though her gaze remained lowered on her phone, and she bit at her lip. "Okay," she agreed a bit reluctantly. "Here," she added, handing it to him.

Sandor took it. Its case was pink with many false diamonds inlayed into it. He dialled his number and then let his phone ring for a few seconds, the sound of barking dogs he had chosen for ringtone resounding through the place, before hanging up and giving Sansa's phone back to her.

"Gotta go now," she murmured just as soon, tossing it into her handbag.

Turning around, she was about to stride out the door when Sandor put his arm across the entrance, blocking her way. She jerked her head up to gaze at him, apparently startled by his move.

"Wait. What do you do tomorrow evening?" Sandor asked her.

"Nothing," she breathed, her eyes even wider than before.

"Wanna have dinner with me? Nothing fancy. Unless that's what you'd like, of course."

"No. I mean, yes. I'd like to have dinner with you. But nothing fancy is fine with me," she whispered, shifting from foot to foot. Her cheeks had become bright red in a split second and she still had a hard time meeting his eyes.

"Alright. I'll call you tomorrow afternoon," Sandor told her, feeling suddenly very light-hearted. With that, he removed his arm from the doorway and let her go.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," she squeaked as she hurried down the stairs.

As she did, Sandor followed her with his stare, his gaze trailing down her body and lingering over her nicely rounded ass. He stayed in the threshold until she had disappeared from his view and then shut the door, exhaling deeply. _Fuck…_ he cursed inwardly, a stupid grin pulling at his lips.

Sandor could tell Sansa wasn't completely comfortable with him, one didn't need to be very observant to come to that conclusion. He knew his appearance didn't inspire everyone's trust, that the sight of him could worry some people. Sansa was no different, however, the fact that she had come to his place to ask him for his number was proof enough that unlike he had believed before her visit, she had to be intrigued by him to some extent. Or perhaps she just wanted him to shag her again. Who knew? She wouldn't be the first woman to have misgivings about him and yet still want to be fucked by him. Either way, he was not about to lose his chance of getting to see her again.

"You're keeping things from me, it seems, Sandor," Jaime's voice came from the living room. He was gazing at him from his place in his armchair, his teeth bared in a wide grin. "Very cute girl indeed, but how old is she?"

Forcing a stony expression on his face, Sandor walked to his couch. He sat back heavily into it before placing his legs over the coffee table. "She's young," he rasped. After a few seconds of silence, he sighed and smirked. There was no use in lying to Jaime. "Eighteen."

Jaime burst out laughing. "Oh, Sandor. You really are a man full of surprise." Leaning toward him, he rose his beer bottle in the air. "Cheers to that, my friend. And good luck with your date."


	8. Chapter 8

_Hi everyone! Another chapter is up! As some of you may have seen on tumblr, I have decided to go back and remove all the Halloween references from this fic. Since this story takes place in a Westeros modern AU universe, I thought it would be way nicer if they had their own Halloween-like festival and I decided to call it Strangerween. :P_

 _I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave a comment if you do! :D_

* * *

Sansa was in the bathroom, applying makeup on her face. Her skin being nearly flawless, she never used foundation and only owned eye makeup, lip-gloss and lipstick. She preferred looking natural. Her mother had taught her that makeup should be used to enhance your looks, not hide or create false illusions and Sansa embraced that principle as well.

Margaery had once made Sansa up with her own cosmetics before a night out at the club and Sansa had been utterly horrified by the result. The pale hue of her face had been completely covered under a thick layer of golden foundation and her already full lips overdrawn and too dark. On top of that, the eyeshadow Margaery had chosen had been applied too generously. While there was no denying that her friend was a talented amateur makeup artist, such a dramatic look simply didn't suit Sansa's personality at all. She had felt as if she was wearing a mask and had hated it. Besides, she was sure the attention she had received from the guys at the club had been different than usual - the skin-tight, very short dress Margaery had lent her certainly not helping in that matter.

This evening, Sansa only applied a bit of nude eyeshadow over her eyelids, mascara on her upper lashes and some eyeliner. She chose a light coral lipstick, put some on her lips and went out of the bathroom.

"How do I look?" she asked Jeyne.

"You look really nice. I don't think you have to worry he'll be disappointed," she told her from her place on the couch. In her hands, she was holding a bowl of multicoloured cereal, her diner tonight apparently.

"Thank you," Sansa said, a timid smile spreading on her lips, same as if it had been Sandor paying her the compliment and not her childhood friend.

Sansa looked down at herself. She had put on a mid thigh length dark floral dress which showed off her collarbone without revealing too much either and wore a denim jacket over it as well as a pair of brown block heel ankle boots. She wanted to look nice and yet didn't wish to seem like she had put too much effort into it either. In the last hour, she had changed thrice and still wasn't completely sure of her choice, but it was getting late and she should probably leave soon.

Jeyne had a night out planned with two of their girlfriends and they would meet later this evening. Sansa would have undoubtedly joined them had it not been for her date with Sandor. _My date with Sandor,_ she mused, taking in a deep, shaky breath. She still wasn't sure this was such a good idea, hadn't been certain of it from the moment she accepted his invitation.

When she had come to his apartment yesterday evening, Sansa had felt the pace her pulse increase from the instant she saw him in his threshold. For a few seconds, it had resounded so loudly in her ears that it was all she could hear. She had wondered why by the Seven she had wanted to see him again. His presence was exceedingly intimidating! He was even taller and broader than she remembered and with his scars, he looked the very definition of fearsome! That she ever become at ease with him had seemed impossible… and yet for all that, she still couldn't deny there was something about him which attracted her. To have his stare bore into her made her uncomfortable - yes that was true! – still, it also made her stomach flutter…

Besides though their interaction had been short, Sansa could tell Sandor had been genuinely pleased by her visit. He even invited her to stay and watch the rugby game with him. She had refused. He had been with a friend – a very good-looking and well put together blond man which looks contrasted quite surprisingly with Sandor's rough around the edges appearance. While he had seemed friendly, being by Sandor's side had already rendered Sansa bashful enough as it was. Having to get acquainted with someone else as well had not appealed to her at all!

Her hope that she would finally make sense of the mess of contradictory feelings Sandor inspired in her from the moment she set eyes on him again had swiftly vanished. It had been foolish of course. Nothing was ever so simple and Sansa had left his apartment just as confused as she had been heading towards it. There were so many aspects of the man that should logically repulse her! And thus now as she got ready to leave, Sansa couldn't stop herself from wondering what in the Maiden's name she was doing, all made up in her prettiest dress when it was _him_ she was just about to rejoin.

Sandor had rang her at around 3PM today and they had agreed to meet near the central fountain at Baelor's Park at 7PM. The park was not far from Sansa's college and only a few minutes' walk from Sandor and the Tyrells' apartment building, so it had seemed like a perfectly logical rendezvous point. Hearing his voice at the other end of the line had been so strange; it had sounded even hoarser coming out of her phone. Sandor had wanted to pick her up at her place, but Sansa had refused. Truth be told, she was reluctant to tell him where she lived. She didn't know him at all and he did have an unsavoury air about him. Jeyne had once japed that he looked like one of those men from that 'Westeros' most wanted' show. While Sansa was certain she had never seen him on the program, it was still preferable that she not take any chance and risk getting herself a stalker – especially one as powerful and formidable looking as him. It was enough already that he had her phone number.

"So, are you nervous, Sansa?" Jeyne asked, in between two spoonful of cereal.

"Yeah, I am," Sansa admitted, her brow knitted in worry. "I've never been on a date with someone I know so little of. I have no idea how it'll go..."

"Well you did sleep with him, so intimately speaking, you know him more than you did Harrold on your first date," Jeyne pointed out.

"Yeah, you're right about that," Sansa agreed reluctantly, squirming uncomfortably in place for a split second. "But in the end, to have already slept with him makes it even more awkward! Besides we've barely gotten a chance to exchange so far. He could be the biggest ass in all of Westeros and I still wouldn't be the wiser!" she exclaimed, horrified at the prospect.

Although it was true in principal, in all honesty Sansa wasn't so sure about what she had just advanced either. Sandor had not been unkind with her on Saturday morning. He had prepared her breakfast, given her ibuprofen and not even made fun of her after she'd woken up although she had passed out in his bed in the mist of them having sex.

"You don't have to go if you don't feel like it, Sansa! It's not too late to cancel, you know," Jeyne reminded her not for the first time today.

Yesterday after Sansa had found out she had lost Sandor's number, Jeyne had been the one encouraging her to go to his place. Sansa had been so distressed and though Jeyne had a hard time understanding her interest in Sandor, friends supported each other in moments like these and thus, she had helped her gather the courage she needed. Yet now after having witnessed how fidgety and hesitant Sansa was all afternoon, Jeyne was clearly starting to doubt this date was a very wise idea. It was obvious she didn't understand her turmoil. If she was so ambivalent about him, then why put herself through this?

"Yeah, I know I could cancel... but no... I gotta go through with this. Otherwise, I feel like he'll always stay in the back of my mind – or at least, for a while. I need to get rid of these doubts I have," Sansa stated, her hands all stiff and clammy.

"Alright, as you say," Jeyne replied, unconvinced. "Don't forget to text me to tell me how it's going. If ever you need me and the girls to rejoin you wherever you are, don't hesitate. We'll come right away." The two of them had a deal. If one of them went out with a guy they didn't really know, they would keep each other informed of how it went and stay available in the event things went downhill.

"I will. I'll text you if he's being too creepy. I think I should go now… Is my hair okay?" Sansa asked. She turned to inspect herself in the large mirror on the corridor's wall. Her curls were fixed in a side fishtail braid which fell a little lower than her breasts. A few tendrils came out of it around her face in a studied mess, one that was exactly as it was meant to be.

"It's really nice. I told you already: if he's not happy with what he sees when you meet him, that means he's crazy and that you should kick his ass on the spot and leave him to eat his dinner alone!"

Sansa smiled and let out a nervous little giggle. "Thank you. I'll text you in about an hour," she said, putting on her coat. Then she grabbed her handbag and took her phone out to see what time it was. "Oh, my gods! It's already 7PM! I'm going to be late!" Sansa cried out in dismay. Tossing her phone back into her handbag, she sprinted out the door.

The park Sandor and she had a rendezvous at was at about a twenty minutes' walk from Sansa and Jeyne's place and so she strode towards it as fast as she could without well and truly running in hope to maybe make it in fifteen minutes at the most. It was not like her to be late and she felt really terrible for it, but preparing herself had taken much longer than planned! Hopefully Sandor would not mind too much… Perhaps he would be late as well?

When she finally had the park in view, Sansa slowed down in her pace. She was panting and became suddenly worried that her face would be all flushed when she arrived. Though she wasn't sure about this date, Sansa still wanted to look pretty. It was a question of pride after all.

Baelor's Park was a very large and beautiful gated park, with plenty of hundred-year-old trees, hundreds of varieties of plants and flowers from all around the world and many dozen's of statues of the Seven and great names of history scattered everywhere across it. Sansa had fell in love with the place from her very first visit, but today she was far too anxious to look around in wonder.

In no time, she got near to the central fountain, her gaze falling on Sandor's imposing shape right away. He was sitting on a bench, his long legs stretched before him and arms folded, distractedly watching the elaborate sprays of water before him with a scowl on his face. Without willing it, Sansa slowed down in her progression, a part of her clearly not ready to face him. He seemed even more unapproachable with his features set so sternly. Her heart hammering wildly in her chest, she raised a delicate hand on her chest, as if the gesture might quell it. But then when Sansa was sill at about ten metres from him, Sandor noticed her out the corner of his eyes and jerked his head in her direction. His lips pulled in the slightest of smiles and he stood up to walk towards her at once.

"Hi," he saluted her as he approached her, his voice raspy but strong.

Sandor's long black hair was loose today as it had been at the Strangerween party and he was wearing a black leather jacket with a pair of blue jeans over dark brown boots. Sansa felt her legs grow weak under her. Seeing him yesterday had had the same effect on her. He was well and truly a giant – had to be over two metres tall! To be by his side made her feel like such a puny, little thing, which wasn't common for her, seeing that she was not small for a woman. It was a bit unsettling to be honest and she halted completely, fearing she might stagger if she didn't.

"How are you?" Sandor asked her once only a metre separated them, halting as well.

Sansa craned her neck to meet his eyes, her breath catching in her throat for a short instant as she took in the scars he had all over the right side of his face and some of his neck. The sun hadn't set yet, though it wouldn't be so long before it did, and she could see them very well under this light. She still wasn't used to them, yet she forced a smile on her lips, adamant about hiding it from him.

"I'm doing well," she replied in the smallest of voices. She had sounded very childish and bit at her lips, embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I'm late, I hope I didn't make you wait too long..."

Sandor shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he told her. Then, smirking, he looked her up and down appreciatively, his eyes narrowed. "Looking beautiful," he told her.

"Thank you," Sansa answered, lowering her gaze. She could tell her cheeks had coloured and wondered if Sandor had noticed.

"You hungry?" he inquired after a moment of silence.

Sansa nodded, glancing up at him. "Yeah." It wasn't true. She was far too nervous to feel like eating anything, but she couldn't well tell him that just before their dinner date!

"That's great, because I'm bloody starving," Sandor admitted, sounding satisfied with her answer. "I was afraid you'd want to take a walk through the park or something. Should've probably eaten something after my shift, but for some reason, I didn't... I usually eat super around 6PM, so this is a bit late for me."

Sansa smiled stiffly and nodded, returning her gaze to the cobblestone walkway. Though she knew she was being impolite not to keep the conversation going, she found herself unable to add a single word. Her stomach was pulled in a tight knot, so much so that she felt nearly queasy.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Sandor gesture for them to make a move. "Let's go then," he prompted, laying a hand on her shoulder, before removing it only a few seconds later as they began walking. "I know a great pub," he started not long afterwards. "It's called the old dungeon, because it used to be... well a dungeon of course. Don't worry though, doesn't look like one anymore. It's a pretty nice place actually. You've ever went there?"

"No," Sansa breathed, feeling his stare on her.

She forced herself to peek his way and meet his gaze, not wishing to come off as rude. She was walking by his good side she realised, the one that wasn't burnt. While Sandor was not truly handsome, he was certainly not ugly either if you didn't take his scars into account and Sansa found it was easier for her to keep eye contact with him now that she didn't see them so well.

"I think you may like it. The food is good and it's a very old place with a lot of character. I wasn't sure where else I could bring you to. I'm not one for fancy restaurants and haute gastronomy, but if you know another place you'd rather go to, just tell me."

"No, the pub you mentioned sounds fine," Sansa assured him. For the first time since she'd met him, she noticed his eyes were grey, like her father's and sister's. It struck her that with his dark hair, he had the classic look of a Northerner to him. She wondered where he was from.

"Perfect. It's only a few minutes' walk from here. I often eat super there." Then, turning to her, Sandor asked: "So, how was your exam?"

Sansa glanced inquisitively at him, at a lost. Yet she thankfully quickly remembered she had used the excuse she had to study for a test in order to refuse his invitation to stay and watch the game yesterday. "Oh! It went well!" she hurried to answer, averting her eyes. "It was for my marketing class. Not really hard!" Gods, her cheeks were burning now! Sansa knew she was not a good liar. With some chance, Sandor would not take note of it though.

And she was lucky indeed, for he didn't comment or inquire further. "Here, the pub's just over there," he announced, nodding at a two storey stone building not far before them.

The place appeared very old, though never so much as Winterfell. At first glance, Sansa surmised it had to be at least five or six hundred years old, if not much more. It was made of huge honey coloured stone blocs with lead casement windows and its front door was massive, in wood with metal studs.

"Come on in," Sandor told her, opening the door for her.

Sansa entered, Sandor following after her. As he had told her moments earlier, the pub looked very nice indeed, she immediately remarked as she stepped in the entranceway. It had a vaulted ceiling and its walls were decorated with reproductions of old tapestries as well as mirrors with the names of different beer and whisky brands engraved in them. There were rows of large wooden tables with candles burning at their centre. The pub was pretty crowded already and buzzed with the sound of people chatting and laughing.

"Oh! I like this place at lot!" Sansa let out, a small smile curving her lips.

"I thought you might, _princess_ ," Sandor told her, looking smug. "You'd have fitted here perfectly in that gown you wore at the Strangerween party."

Sansa blushed, her smile wavering. She didn't really like him referring to the party, which was certainly absurd considering they wouldn't have known each other if not for it. Still, it reminded her too much of the fact that they had had sex. The notion was nerve-racking, somehow, for there was no doubting Sandor was hoping for a second round tonight. He had to be pretty sure he would get it too. It'd be only logical that he'd expect it in these conditions after all and the notion added unwanted pressure to Sansa. She had considered it as well, it was true, and had even shaved _down there_ just in case. Better to be prepared than not, yet that didn't mean she really wanted it!

"Hey, Sandor how are you?" the bartender asked, walking in their direction. It was a man in his fifties apparently, though he looked as solid as an oak. He had big, hairy forearms and was wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "Brought a young lady with you?"

"Yeah. We'll take the booth by the window. You kept it for us, I hope?"

"Of course. What would a reservation be worth if I had not? You can take place, you know the way."

"Thanks," Sandor rasped.

Putting his hand behind Sansa's shoulder blade, Sandor led her to the other end of the pub to an area where there were a few rounded booths. They were all occupied apart from one by a large lead casement window which had a 'reserved' sign placed over its table.

"Give me your coat," Sandor bade her.

Sansa removed it and handed it to him and he hung it after a hook on the wall before taking off his leather jacket and placing it next to hers. He was wearing a slightly loose black wool sweater underneath, one which didn't seem so young judging by how it was worn near the sleeves' hems. Sansa let her stare trail over his chest and arms while he was looking away. His physique was undeniably extremely impressive and it was hard for her to wrap her head around the fact that she had actually slept with him.

They both took place into the booth, each on an opposite side of the rounded table in its centre and Sansa settled her handbag between them. There was a coloured glass candleholder over the table with a lively flame burning inside. Two menus were waiting on the table and Sansa took one, more by reflex than anything else.

A waitress passed by their table at that same instant and Sandor lifted a hand to grasp her attention. "Hi, there. I'd like a pint of stout. What would you like, Sansa?" he asked, gazing at her.

Sansa hesitated for a few seconds. On last Saturday while she suffered through her worst hangover ever yet, she had promised herself she would never - _oh, never!_ \- have another drink again. However this evening, she couldn't very well order a soft drink or a juice! What would Sandor think of her? It was already enough that she was fifteen years younger than him, she didn't want him to think her well and truly a child. What more, Sansa was so very nervous! A drink would help her relax a little. She wouldn't have more than one or two this time around though. She needed to keep her head about her.

"Yeah, I'll take a mojito please," she said, meeting the waitress's eyes.

She was a very beautiful young woman. Probably in her mid-twenties, with dark skin, long dreadlocks and a bohemian style. She seemed to know Sandor as a customer, but there was a slight glint in her eyes which told Sansa she was surprised to see him with a girl like her. They really didn't seem to fit together and she was well aware of it.

Yet for all that, the waitress smiled kindly at them and went away. As they waited for her to return, Sansa kept her eyes glued to the menu, pretending to be super interested in its content.

"Everything is good here, though it's nothing fancy. Just regular but well executed pub food. It's generous too. Take whatever you want, I'm inviting you."

"Oh, thank you," Sansa breathed, very briefly glancing at him.

The waitress returned with their respective beverage as well as two glasses of water instants later. Sansa thanked her and immediately took a small sip of her mojito with the drinking straw inside. It was really good and had been made from real mint leaves, which was a pleasant surprise.

"Have you made your choices yet?" the waitress asked.

"I'll take the steak. Rare, please," Sandor replied. "What would you like, Sansa?"

While she had been staring at the menu for at least a few minutes now, Sansa really hadn't paid attention to what was in offer. Blushing, she gazed up at the waitress. "I'm not sure. I've never been here. What would you suggest I have?"

"Do you like tuna steak? It's available on today's menu, served with grilled vegetables and rice. It's excellent. I had it before my shift."

"It sounds delicious. I'll have that, please."

"Perfect," the waitress said, gathering the menus in her arms and heading away.

As an afterthought, Sansa worried that she might have chosen something too expensive. Servers often pushed for what would increase their tips the most. Sandor had told her he invited her, yet she nevertheless didn't want to seem like the sort of woman who took advantage of such propositions.

Sandor took a long gulp from his pint of beer and when he placed it over the table again, it was already a third empty. Following suit, Sansa put her straw in her mouth and sipped at her drink again. She kept her gaze lowered. She could tell Sandor was watching her and his attention was making her tense. _Why did I want this date again?_ she wondered. She had feared it would be awkward and it was indeed so far. This silence was horrible and yet she had no clue of what she could say to put a stop to it.

In the end, it was Sandor who once more broke the silence. "So, last time you told me you were studying human resources. You like it?" he asked her nonchalantly.

"Yeah, so far I do. It's only have been a few months though," Sansa said, sipping at her mojito again.

"What would you like to do once you're done?"

"I'll be going back in the North where I'm from," Sansa started, gazing up at him. The sun had apparently set completely now, for it had gotten darker in here. The light fixtures were dimmed and Sandor's scars didn't look so bad in the candlelight. He was regarding her attentively, the intensity in his eyes tightening the knot in her belly. One didn't need to be a seer to know he was interested in her. "My parents run a resort over there," Sansa continued, warmth rising to her face. "They have quite a lot of employees and what I'll have learnt here will certainly help running the business."

"You're from the North? I had noticed you had a small accent," Sandor commented with a smirk on his lips. "I'm from the Westerlands. I used to have one as well but almost lost it. Been too long I'm in this bloody city it seems. It always comes back when I'm pissed though."

Sansa smiled at that. It was true he didn't speak exactly as the native King's Landing inhabitants did. She felt a little more at ease now, she realised. The rum in her mojito was beginning to have a beneficial effect on her nerves and besides, there was no denying Sandor was doing all he could to be agreeable with her so far.

"What's the name of your parent's resort?" Sandor had an arm leaned over the top end of the booth and it not being really big, his hand got pretty near her shoulder. His other arm was propped over the table, his long and thick fingers circling his pint.

Sansa wavered for a moment. She didn't want to lie but wasn't sure how Sandor would react to learning her parents owned a castle. "It's _Winterfell's Castle Resort and Spa_."

As she had feared, the notion seemed to amuse him quite a bit, for he threw his head back and barked out a rough laughter. "Seven buggering Hells! This is just too perfect!" he let out afterwards, a wide grin splitting his face. "When I first saw you at that party, I almost took you for a real life princess, one that had just stepped out of a bloody fairy tale." He snorted. "Are you truly one after all? You sure look the part."

"No!" Sansa squeaked, looking down at her drink, her cheeks ablaze. "My family and I are regular people, like everyone else! It just happens that we run a castle resort, that's all!" For now, Sansa surmised it would be preferable that she kept secret the fact that her father was a lord and had inherited Winterfell as well as his title from a line thousands of years old. She feared he would tease her even more for it.

"Alright. As you say," he conceded, pitching his husky voice lower. "Though to be honest, you don't look anything regular to me. Not a word I would use to describe you."

Sansa wasn't sure what to add to that. The alcohol she had drunk had lent her enough courage that she didn't look away from him. There was unmistakable desire in his eyes and it made her stomach flutter.

"Your hair, it's not dyed, is it?" he rasped. Leaning toward her, he stretched the arm he had over the booth to brush his fingertips over her braid, before returning his arm in place almost just as soon.

"No. I never dyed it," Sansa breathed, her heart beating madly in her chest.

"Never do it either, I'd be foolish. It's beautiful."

While Sansa did agree with him, for she really loved her hair as well, his compliment still rendered her very shy. "Thank you," she murmured, glancing down. Eager to turn the conversation away from her, she figured it was time she questioned him as well. "What do you do in life?"

"I'm an electrician. Self employed. I like it," he informed her, before taking a long swallow of beer.

"Oh, that's great," Sansa answered, her mind spinning as she tried to come up with something else to ask him.

Before she had a chance to find anything though, Sandor waved at their waitress as she passed them by. "Another one, please," he demanded, pointing at his half empty glass. The waitress nodded and continued on her way.

"You've not even finished this one yet!" Sansa exclaimed, genuinely surprised.

Sandor smirked. "It'll be over when she comes back, don't you worry about it. This stuff's pretty good."

Sansa wrinkled her nose in doubt.

"You don't like stout?" he asked her.

"I never tried, but I'm not such a fan of beer in general."

"Here, take a sip," Sandor offered, pushing his pint toward her. "Beer's an acquired taste. Takes a moment to fully appreciate it, but it's worth giving it a try a few times at least."

Sansa hesitated a second or two, before circling her fingers around the pint and raising it to her lips. She took a very small sip and grimaced as she swallowed it, which made Sandor chuckle. "It's very bitter!" she complained.

"This one is, but some stouts are not. At this other pub I go to sometime, they have one that tastes like chocolate, I kid you not. It's very creamy and you may like it better. I'll bring you there some other time, if you want."

Sansa's pulse hastened at that. She was very aware he had just indirectly invited her to go out with him again. "Mmm hmm, that's sounds great," she whispered very softly.

The waitress came back with Sandor's new beer and placed it before him. He held his hand up for her to wait and finished his other pint in one single, long gulp, before handing it to her. "Thanks."

Her eyes rounded, Sansa looked at him, a bit taken aback.

"I've a lot of experience in drinking. Don't you worry, I'm nowhere near drunk," Sandor assured her cockily.

Sansa blushed. "Oh, that's not what I was thinking..." she lied.

Sandor was grinning roguishly at her, but there was a queer gleam in his eyes that told her he was not truly mocking her. "Gods, you've no idea how pretty you are with your cheeks pink like that," he told her lowly after a moment of contemplating her. As he spoke, Sandor shifted toward her over the booth. He put one large hand around her shoulder and pulled her gently toward him. "You, come over here, princess. I've been dying to taste your lips again ever since I saw you arrive at Baelor's Park," he murmured before meeting her lips with his.

Sansa hadn't expected his move at all. She was so startled by it that she found herself unable to react at first. Although she wasn't sure if she really wanted him to kiss her, she didn't have the will to push him away either. Sandor's mouth was so eager and his obvious longing for her was very flattering and sort of exciting to be honest. Her heart was racing and she felt giddy and lightheaded like she had never had while her ex Harry kissed her.

Sandor paused after a moment to gaze at her, the look in his eyes somewhat rabid. Both of them were out of breath. "You taste even sweeter than I remembered," he admitted in a hushed tone.

Butterflies filled Sansa's belly at that, the sensation growing even stronger as Sandor resumed kissing her. Moving her lips with his, she opened her mouth and soon, his tongue was brushing softly against hers. Sansa's handbag was between them and though their position was a little awkward, they kept going for a few dizzying seconds - or perhaps minutes, Sansa really wasn't sure. There was no keeping track of time in the state of confused bliss she was in.

At one point, someone cleared their throat and they both ceased kissing to look up. It was the waitress with the dishes they had ordered. "Sorry to bother you, you two lovebirds. I'll just drop that and leave," she said with a wide smile.

Biting at her lip, Sansa recoiled from Sandor, absurdly embarrassed to have been caught. It had been inevitable of course. That was what happened when you made out with a guy at the pub while waiting for your meal!

Removing his hand from her shoulder, Sandor straightened his back to lean it against the booth. As he did, the waitress placed both their plates on the table as well as a basket full of condiment and headed away, not before blinking at them.

Flustered, Sansa took in a deep breath. Things were going far faster than she had envisioned... They had not even eaten dinner and they had already kissed! Yet truth be told, they had done far worse last week and this kiss... well she had enjoyed it _. Oh, I should probably text Jeyne soon before she worries!_ Sansa remembered suddenly. She would tell her her date was going well so far, she decided as she glanced in Sandor's direction, her cheeks burning hot. For the moment, she had no intention of asking her friend to come and rescue her.


	9. Chapter 9

_Yay! Another chapter is up! If you enjoy, please let me know by leaving a comment! :D_

* * *

"Where are the washrooms?" Sansa asked Sandor as she seized the strap of her handbag.

Although she had just received her dish, she thought it best that she text Jeyne right away, lest her friend worried about her. Yet, she didn't want to do it her in front of Sandor, seeing that it would be impolite and that he might try to read what she was writing over her shoulder. Besides, she could use the occasion to wash her hands before eating her meal.

"Right next to the bar, not so far from the entrance," Sandor indicated, his eyes narrowed. "Don't be too long or your fish will be cold though," he added with a hint of reproach in his gravelly voice.

"Of course I won't!" Sansa replied, giving him a small, shy smile, before striding toward the bar. Her face was still all flushed from the emotions she had just lived as Sandor kissed her and her heart had not yet regained its usual rhythm. As she walked through the now pretty crowded pub, she tried to compose herself even as she felt some of the patrons' eyes on her. Had they seen her and Sandor make out?

Sansa easily found the washroom and took her phone out of her bag as she entered.

 _Things are going well so far. We're at pub called The Old Dungeon, but you don't need to come so far,_ she texted Jeyne. _I'll keep you informed._

Since she was here already, Sansa decided she might as well pee and after being done with that and having washed her hands, she headed back to hers and Sandor's booth. As she walked toward it, Jeyne texted her back.

 _Okay. Stay in touch,_ the text said.

Sandor had already started eating his steak when Sansa arrived, though only a few bites from what she could see. Chewing, he gestured for her to sit by his side. Sansa noticed he had placed her plate as well as her cutlery and paper napkin next to his. "Here, take a seat. And no more handbag between us," Sandor told her after he had swallowed.

Sansa nodded, biting at her lip. There was no way she refused this, it would seem strange that she ask for more space just after they had kissed and thus, she sat down and shifted over the booth until she was installed before her dish next to Sandor, settling her handbag on her other side. Sandor still had his arm leaned over the top of the booth and it was now all but circling her shoulders. She could feel his warmth and smell his scent, a mix of soap and his own musky, masculine odour. It instantly brought her back to the sex they had had last week and the images of it which flashed in her mind made her uncomfortable in a heady sort of way.

To make matters worse, Sandor approached his nose to her hair, whiffing at it a little like a dog would. Yet before Sansa could react, he straightened his back and removed his arm from over her shoulders to grasp his fork and knife.

"What are you waiting for? You don't like eating warm, princess?" he demanded her, nodding at her plate.

"Of course, I do!" Sansa replied, taking hold of her cutlery. She was blushing. He was acting so differently from Harry, or any of the other guys who had made advances at her in the past for that matter. It was hard for her to know what to make of him, but the fact that she couldn't predict his moves made his company sort of thrilling to be honest.

Sansa's tuna steak was excellent and melted in her mouth as she chewed on it. The grilled vegetables and rice were very tasty as well. Sandor had not lied when he told her the food was good here.

"It's excellent," she informed him, gazing up at him through her eyelashes. He was very near her, but once more, she was on his good side so meeting his stare was not too hard.

"Told you, didn't I?" Sandor rasped with a self-satisfied air about him. "You should try my steak, it's really good too. Here, take some fries as well," he bade her as he cut a piece of meat for her.

"Thank you," Sansa said as he placed it at the edge of her plate with a few fries.

She cut herself an even smaller piece and tasted it. It was delicious indeed. Sansa returned the offer to Sandor and he served himself in her dish, taking a bite of everything and agreeing with her that the tuna steak was cooked to perfection.

As they kept eating, Sandor asked her about her life in the North. Had she always lived up there? Did she miss it? Was the North really different from the South?

"Oh, yes it is. The pace of life is much slower and it's far less populated than down here. There's much more space in-between the houses, towns and villages and the nature and scenery are beautiful. You've ever been there?" Sansa asked him, before taking a small bite of tuna.

"No, I haven't. The most north I've been to is in the Riverlands. I should travel more. I've never been to Essos either," he said, shoving a fry into his mouth. "Perhaps I ought to change that soon, start by visiting the North and go all the way to the bloody Wall. I could rent a room at your parent's resort, see if castle life suits me."

While Sansa knew he was japing, she was still made uneasy by his suggestion. Was he implying that he'd like to go to the North _with her_? Just thinking about how her parents would react to her bringing such a man home made her breathing accelerate and hands grow clammy. They would really _, utterly_ freak out!

"My cousin lives at the Wall," she started, eager to change the subject and jumping on the first thing that crossed her mind. "Or more precisely, in a little house right next to it. He's a forest warden, has followed in my uncle's footsteps."

Sandor grunted, a small smirk pulling at his lips. "Has he ever caught Others or some of those giant spiders that are supposed to crawl all over that frozen land behind the Wall? I'd sure like to see either of those."

"These are stories," Sansa retorted, her nose wrinkling. While he was obviously not being serious, she was getting tired of people always referring to those age old legends when inquiring about her birthland. It happened all the time and was so annoying! "My cousin is watching for poachers and illegal campers, not monsters!"

Her reaction brought a large grin to Sandor's face. "You're pretty when you blush – I told you already - and you're just as much when you're piqued," he rasped lowly, glancing at her through narrowed eyes, before stuffing a huge piece of steak in his mouth.

Sansa lowered her gaze to her tuna, her cheeks burning. She didn't know whether to be flattered or irritated, but Sandor continued questioning her before she could sort it out.

"You've siblings?" he asked, even though he was still chewing at his food. He didn't have really good table manners, Sansa remarked.

"Yes. I have one sister and three brothers and my cousin was raised with us so he's like another brother."

Sandor's head jerked completely toward her and he pinned her with his stare. "So, wait… How many does that make you? I didn't follow."

Knitting her brow, Sansa let out a sigh. She wasn't anywhere near ashamed of her family - was even really proud of them! - yet at seeing the amused spark which shone in his eyes, she couldn't help but feel embarrassed, no matter how much it didn't make any sense. "We're six in total with my cousin," she replied softly.

Sandor let out something in-between a snort and a laugh, the sound very rough. "Well, I guess your parents thought it their duty to fill that castle of yours," he commented, before taking a long gulp of beer. His pint was already half empty when he lowered it over the table again, thin, white foam covering its inside all the way to the rim.

Having already eaten all of his food, Sandor wiped his hands on a paper napkin and discarded it over his plate. He leaned his back further into the booth and, even over the relatively loud music of the pub, Sansa heard how it complained with a creak at receiving more of his weight. Stretching, Sandor returned his arm where it had been over the booth, just above Sansa's shoulders. She tensed a little and took a sip of mojito, though there was almost only ice left in her glass.

"You'll want another drink?" Sandor demanded her.

"Mmm hmm," Sansa agreed. She took a small bite of tuna, yet while it was delicious, she truly wasn't hungry anymore.

"I'm done with my meal. It's really good, but the portion is far too generous for me," Sansa whispered, peeking at Sandor. He was even nearer to her than before and lightly caressing her braid with the hand he had hanging over her shoulder. Sansa's stomach was fluttering, however, she kept her back straight and hands placed demurely on her lap, some instinct compelling her to take as little space as possible.

"Give it to me then. No waste while I'm around," Sandor bade her, pulling her plate before himself.

The waitress passed by their table at that instant and Sandor ordered her another drink for Sansa as well as one more pint of beer for himself. He ingested everything Sansa had left astonishingly fast so that when the waitress returned, not even a grain of rice was left in her dish. She removed their plates, cutlery and soiled paper napkins and headed to the kitchens. Sansa took a sip from her mojito. It was just as good as the previous. As for Sandor's beer, it wasn't black this time around, but of a dark, golden hue. He took a swig from it, seemingly satisfied with its taste.

"Is this one bitter as well?" Sansa asked him.

"Wanna try? Go ahead and you'll tell me," he rasped, gazing down at her.

Leaning toward the table, Sansa brought her lips to his pint and took the smallest of sips, wincing at once. Gods! It was even more acrid than the stout he had drunk before, so much so that she was forced to take a gulp of water afterwards!

"Oh, I'm really not sure I can ever learn to enjoy this! I don't understand how you do it!" she exclaimed.

Sandor's teeth were bared in a wide, roguish grin. "I told you already, just takes getting used to it. This one's an IPA, so probably not the best choice for a beginner like you. Still, I swear it: I'll make you like beer – love it even - you'll see. It's going to be my mission with you." Then, he turned fully toward her and lowered his face closer to hers, lifting his free hand to cup her cheek with it. "But in the meantime I think I ought to kiss you again. It'd be a pity if I didn't, really."

With that, he pressed his lips to hers and Sansa's heart once more began beating madly. They hadn't been so near to each other during their previous kiss and Sandor hadn't had an arm snaked around her shoulders and a palm on her cheek. He was being too brazen to Sansa's taste and the fact that they were in a public place made her feel very self-conscious. Yet for all that, she still opened her mouth and moved her lips ever so slightly with his as he unhurriedly kissed her. His stubble was scratchy against her soft skin, his hands on her warm and strong. Unwittingly, Sansa laid both her palms to his torso, though whether it was because she wanted to push him away or touch him, she wasn't sure. The muscles underneath her fingers were rock-solid and the feel of them through his sweater sent shivers down her body. She had relished brushing her hands over his robust arms and chest last week when they'd slept together. She didn't remember every detail of their encounter, but this she did very clearly.

Sandor stopped kissing her after a moment to gaze down at her with eyes dark with hunger. He removed the hand he had over her cheek and twisted toward his beer, circling his fingers around it. "You're making me thirsty, Sansa. Better not forget to drink," he said, bringing his pint to his lips.

Out of breath and dizzy, Sansa did likewise and took a sip of mojito. As she did, she tried to think of something to say to start the conversation anew. She couldn't deny she had enjoyed his kiss in spite of her unease, yet things were going far too fast! That was not how a fist date was supposed to go! Sandor and she may have already had sex, that didn't mean they should ignore decorum completely this time around also. While Sansa knew she hadn't been very talkative to begin with, for Sandor made her very timid, she wished he would put in a little more effort and try to keep the conversation going at least a little longer. They should talk more, get to know each other, as people usually did on first dates.

"So, have you been an electrician for very long?" Sansa let out as Sandor placed his pint back on the table, the first thing that crossed her mind.

The man narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously and Sansa wondered if he had guessed she had uttered the question in order to avoid resuming making out with him so soon. Thankfully if he did, he chose not to comment and answered instead. "Not so much. I've had my business for two years and a half now, but I've done a yearlong apprenticeship before that. Things are going pretty well for me so far. I've not stopped working for almost two years now. Not had more than three weeks off in total."

"Wow, that's great. But what were you doing before that?" Sansa continued. She had retrieved her previous position with her back as straight as an arrow and hands on her lap, same as if they had not been kissing just a few seconds before.

Sandor seemed to notice the absurdity of the situation, for he snorted, his lips curving in a somewhat mocking smile. "I was a bouncer," he replied nonetheless. "At clubs mainly, but other places as well. Got tired of it after a while though." As he spoke, he started caressing Sansa's hair with the hand he had over her shoulder. He laid his other palm on her knee, the hands she had placed on her lap looking tiny next to his.

"What clubs have you worked at?" she kept questioning him, even though her heart hammered in her chest.

"A few of those I worked at don't even exist anymore or have changed name since," he started. He was trailing his stare over her face, studying her with undeniable interest. "Though perhaps you know The White Tower? That's the last place I've worked at before I decided to go back to school."

"Oh, yes, I do know it. Have you ever met Margaery during a shift? She goes there almost every week-end."

Sandor chuckled, lightly tracing the line of her collarbone with the knuckle of a finger even as he continued stroking her knee. "Not sure she was of age at the time I worked there. That was five years ago, you know," he said, a smirk stretching his lips.

Colour rose to Sansa's cheeks, for she was even younger than Margaery. Five years ago, she had only been thirteen. She wondered if Sandor was having the same reflection.

"Why didn't you like being a bouncer?" she murmured very softly. In this proximity, she didn't have to worry he would not hear her over the music.

"The hours, mostly. You always go to bed so bloody late and then wake up after noon every buggering day. I'd never have thought I'd say so while I was a teenager or in my early twenties, but I'm actually an early bird, it seems. The lifestyle suits me better. Besides, being a bouncer is quite frankly fucking boring most of the time. You just stand there, looking mean and kick an ass every now and then. Not very difficult, but not very challenging either."

That made Sansa smile. "I'm sure you were good at looking mean though."

Throwing his head back, Sandor barked out a hoarse laughter. "That I was. I could make the toughest wannabe assholes piss themselves just by gazing their way." Then, his mouth twitched and he added with a hint of bitterness: "But you get tired of that too."

At hearing his words, Sansa felt a pang of guilt. There was no denying Sandor intimidated her and that she had let his fearsome looks forge her vision of him – _and still did_. One couldn't help from being daunted by such an impressively tall and brawny man and the burns which covered half of his face certainly didn't help in the matter. Sansa wondered how it was to have such an unusual appearance and inspire concern to all those he came across, no matter that he had done something to deserve their apprehension or not. It must not always be very nice indeed.

Saddened by the notion, Sansa gazed down pensively, but then before she could grasp what was happening, she felt Sandor's hand close around her shoulder and his rough lips press against hers.

Having not expected that, she let out a little yelp. The man used the occasion to find her tongue with his, kissing her more voraciously than he had a few minutes before. Sansa gave him no resistance and laid a hand over his massive bicep. Through the wool, she could feel the shape of his muscular arm, the hardness and width of it fascinating her despite herself. The hand Sandor had over her knee rose to her thigh, his fingers circling the entire upper half of it and fondling her skin insistently. If she didn't stop him, Sansa feared he would soon have it up her skirt. The thought of it was excessively nerve-racking... There were in a pub and anyone looking in their direction could see as clear as the day what they were up to!

Pressing a hand against Sandor's chest, Sansa pushed him and laid her other hand over his to halt its progression over her thigh. "Not here," she complained, panting.

"Let's go to my place then," Sandor proposed lowly, keeping both his hands in place over her.

Her pulse hastening, Sansa tensed even as her entire face grew aflame. "I... I don't know..." she whispered, shaking her head and lowering her gaze. Everything was going far too fast. They had only just met two hours ago at the most! She worried of what Sandor thought of her. Did he see her as an easy woman, one that opened her legs at every date she went on? Sansa had hoped that he had deduced last time had been an exception for her and that she had only been so unbridled because of the how intoxicated she was. To act as thus was totally out of character for her! However in the end, the truth was Sandor barely knew her. He could very well be mistaken about the sort of girl she was.

And yet for all of Sansa's doubts, Sandor's perceptiveness was undeniable for he read right through her. "Sansa, listen to me," he began, his voice at once hushed and insistent. "I'm not going to lie to you and pretend I'm not dying to have sex with you again. You know it just as much as I do anyway. I've not been very subtle so far – and I'll never be either. That's just not who I am. Still, that doesn't mean I want to use you or that I think lowly of you. I may jump on you from the moment we get to my place, but that's not the only reason I'd like to bring you home tonight. I also want to get to know you better."

Sansa bit at her lips and met his gaze. Such bluntness was disarming. He was being very forward and direct, perhaps a bit heavy-handed too, yet his ways were certainly refreshing after Harrold.

During the years they had been together, Sansa's ex boyfriend had constantly lied to her and used all sorts of roundabout stratagems to obtain whatever he wanted from her, that it be to get her alone, convince her they should go a little further this time around or coerce her to agree with him when they had an argument. On top of that, he had cheated on her. It had been easy for him, seeing that he lived in the Vale, so far away from Sansa. They had met each other while he spent a year in the North as an exchange student and had tried to maintain a long distance relationship after he returned home. Yet when Sansa visited him in his hometown during the Sevenmas holidays almost a year ago, she learned the truth about him when Randa, the daughter of one of her aunt's employers, spilled it all out for her. The whole affair had left her such a bitter aftertaste in her mouth that Sansa was still angry whenever she thought about it.

After such an experience, Sandor's straightforwardness certainly had its appeal. He was not playing games with her and though she was perhaps naive, she did believe him when he said he didn't want to use her.

Sensing she was wavering, Sandor tightened his hold on her and resumed speaking. "I still have unfinished business with you, Sansa. You didn't give me a chance to complete the job last week!" he reproached her, though he was obviously not being serious. "It was good though, I think you enjoyed it as well... have you?"

"I barely remember it," Sansa whispered. She was unable to keep eye contact with him anymore and could guess just how red her face had become. Gods! Never in her life had she known anyone who spoke as plainly as he!

"Well then that's a bloody shame," he added darkly, his features pulling in something near a scowl. "Reason more to go to my place. You need to give me another chance, Sansa! I swear you won't regret it. I need to prove myself to you. It's a question of male pride, by the buggering Seven! No man wants to hear a woman has forgotten all about his bloody performance!"

Despite herself, Sansa giggled. She was feeling very anxious and flustered, but excited as well. How could one refuse such a plea? Sansa certainly didn't have the heart to. "Alright," she murmured. "Let's go."


	10. Chapter 10

_Yay! It's done! Sorry if this one took a bit longer to update. It's here now though! Enjoy! :D_

* * *

As Sandor paid their bill, Sansa went to the washroom again. While she did truly have to go, she also used the occasion to text Jeyne and warn her that she'd probably come back home late tonight. She wasn't sure if she'd get a moment alone after she arrived at Sandor's place and still preferred not to have him read over her shoulder as she wrote to her friend. After having inspected herself in the mirror and applied some more lipstick, she walked out of the washrooms and rejoined Sandor just out the pub's door where they had agreed to meet.

It was fully dark now and much colder without sunlight. Sansa stuffed her hands into her coat's pockets, shivering. Sandor was waiting a few metres from the entrance, his stare darting to her as soon as she stepped out.

"You're ready?" he asked her, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes gleamed under the dim street lamps' lighting and the shadow he projected over the sidewalk was incredibly long. He made quite a sight, one that would've unquestionably frightened her had she not known him.

Her heart beating very fast, Sansa approached him and nodded. "Uh-huh," she mumbled.

Sandor put his hand between her shoulder blades to lead her and they both started walking.

After the din of the pub, the quietness of the street was unnerving – that, and the fact that they both knew they were heading to his place to have sex. Sansa wasn't used to things being stated so plainly, especially where seduction and sex were concerned. Although she appreciated Sandor's honesty, the situation still made her feel very awkward. The truth hung heavily between them, she felt, and the fact that she had agreed to this date while being well aware there were high chances they'd once more end up in his bed didn't change anything in the matter. She had believed it wouldn't happen so soon in the evening and that Sandor would be less frank about his intentions, so the turn of events was certainly unsettling.

Unlike her, the man seemed perfectly at ease with his transparency. "My place's less than ten minutes from here," he informed her, gazing down at her with barely veiled desire. His hand was resting on the side of her ribs, just over her waist, his long fingers curled over her. "We can stop by the liquor store on our way. I have beer at home, but if you want one of your girl's drinks, I'll have nothing to offer you."

Sansa nodded, peeking up to meet his eyes briefly. "Yeah, I'd like another drink, I think, but I don't want to get drunk. Just one would be fine," she whispered. She already felt a bit tipsy after her two mojitos and while it was probably better for her nerves, Sansa didn't wish to repeat last's week's events either. It was important that she kept her head about her this time around so that she could make up her mind about Sandor for good, as had been her plan. And, yeah, that included his _performance_ too...

"I'd rather you don't get too drunk also," Sandor replied. Out the corner of her eyes, Sansa could see the smirk that curved his lips as he spoke. "We'll buy you a bottle of something, but don't you feel any pressure to finish it. Take only what you need and we'll have what's left for some other time."

Sansa bit at her lip. Their first date was not even over yet and he was already making plans for when they next saw each other. He apparently really wanted to see her again. Sansa wasn't sure what she thought about that. She didn't regret her decision to go on this date so far, no matter how unusual it was, yet she preferred not to think ahead.

The liquor store was just a corner away from the pub and they reached it in a couple of minute's walk. It was full of people, mostly young adults looking to supply themselves for a night of partying. As she entered, Sansa gazed around herself worryingly and breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't recognise anyone she knew from school. Still, she didn't miss how most peeped at Sandor. He was indeed hard to miss with his height and build and in this light, his scars were anything but discreet. She could discern them in great detail, as she had as they walked towards the pub in the sunset, and there was no doubting everyone could as well.

As Sandor looked through the different brands of whisky available, Sansa allowed herself to examine his burns more closely, taking in the dark, leathery skin and deep cracks, but she abruptly averted her gaze when he returned his attention on her.

"You know what you'd like to drink, Sansa?" Sandor asked her, apparently oblivious to how she had been staring.

A blush creeping on her cheeks, Sansa pointed at the raspberry vodka bottle before her. "I love raspberry vodka with grapefruit juice," she said.

Sandor snorted and seized the bottle by the neck. "Was this that pink stuff you drunk at the Strangerween party?"

"Yeah," Sansa answered, surprised that he remembered.

Sandor smirked but he didn't add anything to that and walked to the checkout, grabbing a large box of grapefruit juice on his way. As they waited in line, Sansa noticed people were glancing in their direction again, though this time their stares didn't just stay on Sandor but went to her as well. They must wonder what they were doing together. They had to appear very mismatched and she so young next to him. What would they think if they knew they had already slept together and that they would do it again very soon? she wondered, the pace of her pulse hastening.

If Sandor was bothered by the attention they were receiving, he didn't show it. "You like wine, Sansa?" he asked, his eyes on a display of wine bottles on sale not far from the checkout.

"Yes, I like white and rosé wine, but it needs to be sweet."

"You like everything sweet, don't you?" Sandor rasped with a little, mocking smile on his lips. "Myself, I prefer red wine. Nothing fancy though. I like those old sour varieties which aren't very popular these days. Hard to find and not sweet at all. You'd probably stick out that little, pink tongue of yours at tasting some. You'd hate it," he advanced chuckling roughly.

The cashier greeted them at that instant and Sandor gave her the vodka and juice.

"I'll pay for that," Sansa insisted, fumbling through her handbag.

Shaking his head Sandor took hold of the debit machine before she had a chance. "No, you're not. I'm inviting you, remember?"

"Alright," Sansa agreed reluctantly as he entered his PIN. She did appreciate his desire to pay for everything. It was gallant, no matter how much the term didn't seem to fit with him. Yet at the same time, it made her feel indebted, which was less nice given that she wasn't sure of where their _thing_ would be going. She'd rather not owe him anything.

Once the transaction was approved, Sandor replaced his wallet into his jeans' back pocket and took hold of the plastic bag with their purchases inside the cashier was handing him. They both headed outside, Sandor laying a hand on the small of her back.

"We can get to my place through the building's parking lot and enter by the backdoor. It's a shortcut," Sandor told her as they strolled away from the store.

Sansa nodded and moments later, he was leading her into a back alley. The place was very dark and unexpectedly seedy in contrast to the street they had been walking in just an instant before. There was graffiti on the walls, rubbish on the ground and Sansa was almost sure she had glimpsed a syringe on the floor. That was one of the things which had most surprised her with King's Landing when she first arrived. Even in the city's nicest areas, there were always those shabby little corners, hidden just behind the buildings' elegant facades.

"Wow, this is a bit sordid. Not sure I'd walk here alone," Sansa let out, keeping close to Sandor.

"Yeah not too nice, I'll give you that. Don't ever take this shortcut on your own."

Sandor didn't have to worry she would. Sansa was too much of a scaredy-cat to ever take unnecessary risks. This evening with Sandor by her side though, there was absolutely no reason she feared anything. You'd have to be insane to attack such a strong and fearsome looking man! Besides truth be told, Sansa was secretly relieved that they wouldn't enter through the main staircase. She had dreaded that they might bump into Margaery or Loras on their way up, so this was certainly preferable as far as she was concerned.

As they exited the back alley and stepped into the well-lit parking lot of Sandor's apartment building, a parked grey van caught Sansa's eyes. _The Hound Electrical Services_ was written on its side in bold yellow and black characters.

"Is this yours?" she asked.

"It is," Sandor answered cockily, glancing down at her. "Bought it brand new when I started my company."

"Oh, that's great," she replied, though she wondered why he had picked that name. The Hound? What a strange choice.

They climbed up the building's metallic outdoor staircase, Sansa ahead of Sandor. As they went up, she could feel his eyes on her body. She was sure he was gazing at her butt, yet what else should she expect from him? Then, Sansa remembered what they had planned for the evening and she felt her knees grow weak under her. Thankfully, she managed to keep going until they reached the third floor where Sandor lived and they both entered through the backdoor.

As he locked the door behind them, Sansa removed her ankle boots. She took a look around herself. It was dark, yet she instantly recognised the living room-kitchen open plan. The last time she had been here, apart from her two minutes in the entranceway yesterday evening, she had just woken up with the mother of all hangovers, naked in Sandor's bed. The thought was a bit nerve-racking, knowing that was where he wanted her again. Would he soon jump on her as he had warned her he might?

"You want ice for your drink, I bet?" Sandor demanded her as he turned on the dimmer switch just enough for them to see where they were going.

"Yeah," Sansa whispered, strolling toward the kitchen table. The place was pretty tidy. There was not even a dirty dish on the kitchen counter, though Sansa spotted some dust heaped near the wall. For an old bachelor's apartment, it really wasn't bad.

"Lucky you. I have some. Made a batch no sooner than yesterday," Sandor told her. He removed his leather jacket and placed it over the back of a chair. Then, he took an ice cube mould out of the freezer, found an old fashion glass in the cupboard and put both on the kitchen counter. "Here. I'll let you prepare your drink yourself. I'd rather you make it to your taste."

Sansa nodded and walked to the counter, her stomach pulled in a tight knot. She could sense Sandor's stare on her, but was unable to look back directly at him. He was most likely already picturing her without her clothes and thinking of what he'd like to do to her and the idea was adding to her building nervousness.

As Sansa prepared herself a drink, pouring just a few drops of vodka on the ice in her glass, she watched Sandor out the corner of her eyes as he took a beer out of the fridge and opened it with his bare hands. He took a long gulp, straight from the bottle, before heading to the table at her back, out of her sightline.

"Is my place cold, Sansa?" Sandor's gravelly voice came from behind her just as Sansa was settling the juice box back on the counter.

"Huh?" she asked, jerking her head back to gaze up at him.

He was standing less than a half metre behind her, watching her through dark, narrowed eyes. Sansa swirled around to face him completely, her glass in hand. Gods, now that she had removed her boots, he seemed even taller! He well and truly towered over her! Recoiling against the counter as much as she could, she took an anxious sip from her drink.

"You still have your coat on," Sandor remarked lowly, seizing the garment's collar between two fingers. "It'll be hard for me to get you naked if you're too cold to take even that off. Want me to turn on the heating?"

Sansa blushed. He was not beating around the bush indeed. "I'm not cold. It's just that... that..."

Before Sansa could find something to say, Sandor closed the gap between them in one slow step and cupped her cheek with his hand, his fingers so long they circled behind her head. With his other hand, he removed Sansa's glass from her fingers and put it down over the counter by her side, bending over to kiss her even as he did.

His mouth felt good on hers and his palm on her cheek was pleasantly warm. Sansa liked the way he kissed and how possessively he was stroking her waist. It was obvious he was used to taking the lead and she let him have it gladly, her lips and tongue following the cadence he set. To feel his sturdy body against hers and have his entire attention on her was certainly intoxicating, yet though she tried, something was keeping her from totally abandoning herself. She was worried.

Apart from on the previous week when she was so very inebriated and acting as she would never in her right mind, Sansa had only ever slept with Harry. And they hadn't done it all that often to be honest. It wasn't as if they had had a place of their own while they were together and Sansa hadn't felt comfortable doing it at home when her parents or siblings were there. Thus now that she was in the arms of a man fifteen years her senior, she felt like such a novice and so shy in spite of the couple of drinks she had drunk. She feared Sandor had set his expectations high from their previous encounter and how eager and rash she had been. Sansa didn't want to disappoint him, yet she couldn't force herself to act in ways which didn't feel natural either!

When after she didn't know how long, Sandor removed his lips from hers, Sansa decided to speak what she had on her mind, no matter how much to say it aloud made her cheeks burn. Sandor had been very direct with her so far, perhaps she should be as well. "Last time... I... I was drunk," she murmured, their faces inches from each other. "I'm not like that usually. You may find me boring tonight..."

Sandor snorted a rough laugh and straightened his back, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you fucking crazy, girl? You could just lie on my bed and do nothing and I still wouldn't be bored. But you won't do that either, won't you? I know last time was special for you and I'm not expecting you to jump on me like you did, still if you keep kissing me as sweetly as now and trail your little hands on me, you'll make me a very happy man, no worries to have."

Sansa lowered her gaze bashfully, unsure what to say. Had he just referred to how she had sucked his dick of her own initiative a week ago? If he thought to put her at ease doing that, he was mistaken! By the Maiden, but he really was a boor! She knew she ought to be repelled by his tastelessness and yet, a part of her couldn't help but feel a hint of arousal at the memory of how his penis had felt in her mouth. It had been so big, her jaw had ached.

"Now, you come over here, princess," Sandor muttered. With no further warning, he slid his hands around her waist and lifted her from the ground as effortlessly as if she weighted nothing.

"Ah!" Sansa let out as he installed her over the counter, her eyes rounded. She had not expected his move at all and brought her hands over his upper arms by reflex. They were as solid as steel and unbelievingly wide.

 _What a beast he is!_ she reflected. She had come to the same conclusion on last Friday when he threw her over his bed mere instants after they'd left the Strangerween party. For all that Sansa would never have expected it, his brutish ways had gotten her off then... _and still did now_. There was an appeal to such a strong and daring man, she couldn't deny it.

"You've too many layers, Sansa," Sandor complained, unzipping her coat. "Take that off."

Her pulse resounding loudly in her ears, Sansa removed both her coat and denim jacket, Sandor taking the garments from her hands and throwing them over the nearest chair. Her dress was sleeveless and Sansa got goose bumps at the kitchen's cool air's contact, yet Sandor swiftly returned his hands on her waist and kissed her, his proximity warming her.

The back of Sansa's head was leaned against the cupboards and her thighs rested halfway over the counter, halfway in the air. Sandor was standing between them, his hands travelling from her ribs to her hips. They were so big, he could entirely circle her waist with them and the sight brought butterflies to her belly.

"I'm not being very patient, I know. We should probably still be chatting in that pub I brought you to, but I just want you too much to think straight," Sandor rasped, even as he lowered his face to her neck to kiss and sniffle her skin, his mouth wet and hot.

Sansa stretched her neck to the side to give him better access, rolling the back of her head against the cupboard behind her. She raised her hands to his shoulders, feeling their broadness through his sweater. Though she was still nervous, warmth was also pooling in her lower belly and her mind, increasingly free of apprehension.

One of Sandor's hands rose to her boobs and he began moulding them just firmly enough over her dress and bra. She let out a moan, sighing as he brought his other hand over her thigh, his fingers sliding under her skirt. Sansa looked down at herself. The hem of her dress had bunched over her lap and she was pretty sure Sandor could see her panties.

"Take off your dress, Sansa," the man bade her, tugging at it.

Sansa blushed deeply but she didn't object and, squirming in place, she pulled it over her head with his help. Her core was aflame and her breathing getting a bit ragged. The prospect of finding herself unclothed before him was exciting, however, she couldn't help from feeling a little timid. At least she was wearing her favourite bra and panties and knew she looked very good in them. They were of a soft, pale shade of pink and made of lace, cute and comfortable as well.

"Look at you, girl. You're as hot as the Seven Hells," Sandor muttered, gazing down at her curves thirstily. "I've a few layers too much also, I think."

With that, he pulled his sweater over his head. Underneath, he was wearing the same white tank top he had had on when they first met, but he took it off almost just as soon. Sansa's breath caught in her throat at the sight of his powerfully build torso. By the Maiden, but how impressive his body was. It was hard for her to wrap her head around the fact that she had met a man who looked like him, let alone that she had slept with him and that they would soon do it again. You didn't meet guys with his physique in real life! He reminded her of one of those loutish villains from those stupid action movies her younger brothers liked to watch and with the dark, coarse hair he had over his chest and arms, he looked even more like a brute. Never in a million years would she have thought she might one day be attracted to someone like him; she'd always wrinkled her nose in distaste at the hypermasculine protagonists of her brother's action movies. Yet for all of that, there was no escaping the fact that she longed to touch him, to feel those huge muscles under her palms, to be crushed under his weight...

Sandor kissed her and even as they both moved their lips together, he brought his hands to her back and attempted to undo the strap of her bra. After a few seconds of struggle, he removed his mouth from hers and peeked behind her back, cursing. However, even before Sansa had time to reach back and help him, he had achieved undoing it on his own, the bra rejoining Sansa's dress on the floor.

His mouth was on her nipples almost just as soon, his large hands cupping her breasts, and Sansa lifted her palms to his biceps, exploring the vast, sinewy expanse of them. His lips and tongue were greedy on her, and many little groans escaped her mouth.

"Mmmm," Sandor murmured, freeing the stiff, pointy nipple he had between his teeth to brush his face against her breasts. "What do you say we go to my room now?" he asked as he straightened his back, his voice hushed and gravelly. "We'll be more comfortable in my bed."

"Okay," Sansa whispered breathlessly, her lips slightly opened.

With an arm under her knees and another around her shoulders, Sandor lifted her from the counter, gathering her in his arms. Sansa instantly snaked her arms around his neck, her heart hammering with so much strength she was sure he could hear it. She had never been carried like that by Harry! But it was nice, really nice indeed. There was something almost romantic about it, if you were to forget how uncouth Sandor was and the fact that so far, their relationship had only been about sex.

Once they had gotten to his bedchamber, Sandor lowered her over the mattress. It was dark in here, but Sansa could tell the bed was unmade by the uneven feel of the blankets under her. Sandor turned on the accent lamp on the night table, the lighting it emitted warm, though not very strong. In its orange glow, his body looked like a succession of hills and shadowy valleys. As Sansa lowered her gaze to his abs, she noticed the bulge in his jeans. He was clearly aroused, and though it was anything but surprising seeing what they had been up to, she still felt her whole body grow red.

Sandor sat at the edge of the bed and unlaced his boots, kicking them off once they were loose enough. As he did, Sansa watched the muscles of his brawny back flex and unflex with his every movement. There were mean looking scars marring his skin, one of them going from his shoulder to the centre of his back. Sansa remembered having noticed others on his arms also on Saturday morning. She was curious to know their story, as well as that of that of the burns on his face, but figured now was not the time to ask. Still without thinking, she approached him and traced the longest scar with her fingertips.

At the feel, Sandor twisted around to gaze at her, a wicked grin spreading on his lips. With a smug air about him, he rose to his feet and unbuckled his belt. He removed his jeans and boxers and in just a couple of heartbeats, he was already standing naked by the bed, his swollen member in hand.

Gods, Sansa had certainly not dreamed. His cock was _huge_ indeed! When she'd first seen it a week ago, she had been in no state to control the urge to suck it which had uncharacteristically taken her. Now she wouldn't do that of course, she was nowhere nearly inebriated enough, yet she could understand the appeal.

Titling his head to the side, Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm not going to be the only one naked now, will I?" he rasped, his tone strangely at once playful and threatening. Then, he climbed over the bed and trailed his hands all over her body, his fingers shortly finding their way to her crotch. He stroked her there with his thumb, just over where Sansa knew the fabric of her panties was getting moist. She shivered in pleasure at the delicious sensation it triggered. "Take this off, Sansa," Sandor urged her, tugging at the garment.

Sansa was not about to object. She raised her pelvis and slid her panties down all the way to her ankles. Once they had landed over the floor, Sandor placed himself at her feet and spread her legs, his stare immediately flicking between them.

"Such a pretty, little pussy you got there, Sansa," he breathed huskily.

Sansa threw her head back in embarrassment, squeezing her eyes shut. It was nice to know he liked what he saw, but this was so direct it sounded rather vulgar.

Sandor was oblivious to her discomfort. "Won't let my chance to get a taste of it pass me by this time around."

His mouth was on her a split second later, licking at her in an intoxicating mix of hunger and meticulous attention. Sansa arched her back. Oh, gods, that was good. Her folds were so sensitive and responded to his every caress. She was surprised at how enjoyable it was. It just felt _so_ right. With a hand, Sandor was holding her hip, his weight propped on his elbow and when Sansa glanced down at him, she saw he was jerking off with his other hand, the sight heating her blood even more.

"You're honey sweet, girl," Sandor told her as he removed his mouth from her a few blissful seconds later. "You ready for me now?"

Meeting his gaze with half-lidded eyes, Sansa nodded. Her whole body was warm and flushed and she was dizzy with arousal. She had never wanted Harrold so much.

Shifting from her, Sandor stretched sideway and reached for the night table. He opened the first drawer, fumbled through it and fished out a condom. Opening the seal, he slid it over his dick. His member was so very wide and long, Sansa wondered what size he could wear. And to think Harry had once told her his prick was too large for condoms and that he didn't find them comfortable for that reason. Thankfully, she had never bought it.

With his hands, Sandor spread her thighs even wider and installed himself in-between. Sansa laid her palms over his sides to guide him. Her loins were aching with anticipation and her folds throbbing with desire. She sighed as he placed the head of his penis at her entrance, bracing herself for what she knew was coming. Sandor started rocking his hips against hers and with each of his small thrusts, a bolt of lightning went through her, making her gasp and whimper.

"Seven Hells, Sansa. You really want me, don't you?" Sandor rasped, sheathing himself in and out of her, each time more deeply.

His cock was gliding in her as smoothly as butter in a hot pan and Sansa was surprised and even a little embarrassed at how soaked she had gotten. But he was right, there was no denying that she wanted this. Her insides were so slick and moist for him.

Sandor groaned and looked her in the eyes, lust plain in them. Pressing his lips to hers, he accelerated the rhythm of his comings and goings. Sansa kissed him back and moved her pelvis with his with just as much eagerness. With her hands, she was touching his chest and arms and squeezing the muscles with her palms, amazed by the size of him. He was so huge, every part of him was, and she felt like the most small and delicate thing in the world next to him. For some reason, the impression was getting her off. And his dick was so big, the sensations it roused in her as he kept taking her were super intense in an ecstatic sort of way. She had a hard time keeping her eyes opened for more than a second of two and she was moaning and moaning with no restraint or shame whatsoever, like she never believed she might one day.

Sex had always felt mechanical to Sansa when she did it with Harrold. She would intellectualise everything she did all the way through the act, would wonder if she moved or touched him as she ought to rather than let herself go. With Sandor, there were no such questions. She didn't have to think about what she did – or more exactly, she was simply unable to do so. But it didn't matter, for her instincts guided her and gave her all the confidence she needed, as if nothing had ever been more natural than what she did now.

"Fuck, Sansa. You're so beautiful, I could fuck you all night. I'll do it if you let me," Sandor was rasping.

His shoves in her had gotten quite frantic by now, but it was all good, for Sansa was just as agitated as him. She followed each of his movements and bucked her hips with his, her legs clutched after him. The pressure at the juncture of her thighs was growing so acute that she wondered if she might not come soon. _No it's impossible._ _It never happened while in the act._ So far, Sansa had only ever reached climax while touching herself. She had not come close even once otherwise. And yet today, she could almost feel it within her grasp...

Still before this could happen, Sandor groaned and cursed, his thrusts in her growing even more powerful. Sansa knew what was coming and closed her arms around him, enjoying the manly sounds which escaped his lips as he spilled himself in her – or more exactly, in his condom.

 _Oh, Seven Heavens..._ Sansa mused as Sandor grew still and collapsed over her. _That was... that was... wow..._

Though she was not totally fulfilled, she had never been so turned on while doing it before and neither had she ever been so participative either. Her friends, Margaery and Randa mostly, had always spoken of sex with great interest and so far, Sansa had not understood what all the fuss was about. Things had just taken a dramatic turn this evening and the prospect of what it meant was quite frankly thrilling. It was as if a whole new world had just opened up before her, one that she had been totally unaware even existed. Unlike Sansa had secretly feared ever since she had lost her virginity, she now knew for a fact that she could learn to truly enjoy sex. It was just a question of getting to practice.

 _Getting to practice,_ Sansa repeated inwardly, her enthusiasm dampening. Of all the scenarios she had envisioned when she tried to predict how her date with Sandor would go, this was the one which had always concerned her the most. What would happen if they slept together again and she liked it _a lot_? Gods, she was about to find out. Among all the men on Earth who could've made her feel that way, it was _him_ who did! Him who was so much older than her and who could never, _ever_ pass for boyfriend material!

 _But this doesn't have to become serious. Not at all even!_ Sansa tried to reassure herself. _We can see each other and have sex, be some sort of fuck friends._ She was foolish for worrying about this, was thinking too much ahead. In all likeness, either she or Sandor would lose interest in the other shortly enough anyway. That was what happened to Margaery and her many flames all the time! When a relationship was all about sex, it lost its appeal as soon as the novelty had worn off. Yes, their _thing_ would last only for as long as it needed and the thought of it made her feel instantly better.

"Am I crushing you?" Sandor asked, stirring over her.

"Perhaps a little, but I'm fine," Sansa answered. Still, she was glad when he moved away from her. Her breathing was starting to get a bit laboured. Shivering from the sudden cold, she found a sheet by her side and wrapped it around her.

"Sorry. Took me a moment to come round," Sandor commented. After he had rolled onto his back, he folded his arms behind his head and let out a snort. He had a wide grin on his lips and seemed very relaxed. "And to think you worried I'd find you boring," he said, glancing her way through narrowed eyes gleaming with amusement.

Sansa blushed. She had not expected she'd be so much into it, otherwise she might not have said as much.

"I didn't last nearly as long as I'd have liked. I'll be good for another round soon enough though, if you'd like. You just need to give me a moment to regain my strength," Sandor continued, his voice low and hoarse. "We have time, don't we? The night's still young."

Sansa smiled shyly at that. "Yes, the night's still young," she agreed. And as Sandor's thick arm pulled her against him, she resolved not to let her concern about the future bother her, for tonight at least.


	11. Chapter 11

_Hi everyone! New chapter time! Please comment if you enjoy! :D_

* * *

Sansa was lying in Sandor's bed with a sheet pulled up to her breasts, her head leaned on his chest. He had his upper body propped against a pile of pillows and an arm snaked around her, his fingers slowly stroking her upper arm. They were chatting, distractedly watching shadows moving over the ceiling as cars with their headlights on drove across the street below. Sandor had brought his beer as well as Sansa's drink in his bedroom not long after they had sex. He had placed both on the night table and they took sips from their respective beverage every now and then.

"You told me you played music when we spoke at the Strangerween party. What instruments exactly?" he inquired, his voice a low rumble in her ears.

Sansa was surprised that he remembered. As for herself, she didn't recall having mentioned her love of music at all, yet there were many things she had forgotten from that evening. She had been so drunk after all.

"I play a few," she started softly. "The traverse flute, a bit of classical guitar and lute, but mainly the piano. We have a grand piano at Winterfell – my parents' castle..." Sansa paused, glancing at Sandor shyly. She half-expected him to mock her for her origins again, yet he didn't and only kept gazing at her attentively. "I love practicing on it, its tone is so rich and resonant. I have a digital piano here in King's Landing. It's better than nothing, but still a thousand times less nice."

"What sorts of music do you play?" Sandor asked quietly. Stretching his arm to the night table, he brought his beer to his lips and took a long sip.

"Well, to say the truth, I'm pretty old-fashioned," Sansa admitted, a blush creeping on her cheeks. "I almost only ever play classical music, that and old traditional songs. Very old, folk songs about our land's legends and history."

"Like the bear and the maiden fair?"

Though Sansa had her stare to the ceiling, she could picture the smirk which she knew curved Sandor's lips. She rolled her eyes, glad that he couldn't see her doing something so little graceful. "I do know that one, of course. But it's not my favourite. Not at all even! Sadly, it seems it's the only one everyone ever remembers, because of the... _subject matter_. It's a bit vulgar. I prefer those which tell stories about those times long gone. About ladies, knights, fools, kings and queens."

"I don't know any of those songs. You should educate me. Why don't you sing one for me now? I'm sure you have a beautiful singing voice," Sandor suggested, his fingers tracing circles over her shoulder.

"Oh, I would rather not... Not like this!" Sansa replied, her pulse hastening at the very idea. "I need my piano… I'm too shy to sing unaccompanied!

"You have a piano at your place, don't you? You just told me so."

"I have my digital piano..." she admitted reluctantly, afraid of where he was going with this.

"I'd like you to sing for me. Will you do it, at some other time? I'm sure you sing as prettily as a little singing bird."

Sansa wavered for a few seconds. Although they had had sex twice already, she still knew very little about him. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to know where she lived, but she was raised too well to flat out refuse. Besides, he wasn't asking for them to head to her apartment right away, so she would have time to really think it through before that had to happen. "I'll sing for you gladly, yet I have to admit I find singing for one person alone far more intimidating than to do so for a group of people. Just thinking about it makes me nervous! As you've probably noticed, I'm actually very shy. It's probably my biggest flaw..."

"Of course you are, little bird. But it's no flaw. That's just how you are and certainly part of your charm."

"Little bird?" Sansa repeated, jerking her head to look at him. His grey eyes were on her, watching her with a faintly amused spark shining in them. "I thought I was a princess?"

"You are indeed. But why couldn't you be more than one thing at once? A princess and a little bird both." He laughed then, a low, lazy laugh. "The more I think about it, the more I feel like 'little bird' is a perfect nickname for you. Just suits you so well. You're always so poised and mannerly, very obviously well-bred, and you keep peeping those nice and proper, little words to me. I once saw one of those very pretty, singing birds from the Summer Isles in a pet shop when I was just a kid. I was very impressed by it. It could whistle many tunes and speak a few words. It said 'thank you' when you fed it and saluted the customers and passersby. Fuck I swear it, it had better manners than me and by far! Its plumage was a dark shade of red and very thick, like your hair. I would probably buy it for you if I saw it again..."

Sansa frowned. "Shouldn't I be insulted by what you've just said? A little bird... _oh_... that doesn't sound very flattering."

"Don't take it like this. I told you I was impressed by that bird, didn't I?" he said, his teeth bared in a roguish grin. Then, his tone more serious, he added: "And anyhow, animals are smarter than we humans give them credit for. Being compared to one is no insult as far as I'm concerned. I often think of myself as an old dog..."

"A hound? I noticed that, on your van," Sansa remarked. "Why did you call your company _Hound Electrical Services_? I was curious about it when I saw it."

"You were?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Yeah," Sansa admitted a bit timidly.

"Well if you want to know, it's because it was my moniker when I did ultimate fighting."

Sansa jumped in place. "When you did _what_?" she cried out, her eyes wide.

"You heard right. But why are you so surprised? Do I look like a bloody choirboy to you?"

"Oh, of course not!" Sansa exclaimed with a bit too much conviction, she realised once the words had escaped her lips.

Her sincerity made Sandor chuckle. "Well that's good to know. I was worried for a moment," he teased her.

Blushing, Sansa propped herself on her elbow to face him completely, laying her other arm over his torso for balance. "I'll admit you do have the right... _looks_ to do any sort of combat sport," she started, eager to explain herself. "But I was taken aback because I've never known anyone who did ultimate fighting before - or anything similar for that matter. And to be honest, I don't know the first thing about the sport! By its name it sounds... very rough."

"It is," Sandor agreed, caressing the hand she had over his stomach with his fingers. "And I can't pretend I had expected you'd be familiar with it either. There weren't many girls like you in the crowd I used to hang in. None at all even."

Sansa wondered what he meant by 'girls like her'. He must think her terribly sheltered and privileged, though in the end, he'd probably be right if he did. "How did you get into ultimate fighting?" she asked.

"I started as a teenager. Around sixteen," he answered. "I used to hang out at a boxing club and got recruited by an older member. I preferred it to boxing from the moment I started. Less rules, more underground and most of all, way more violent."

" _More violent_?" Sansa repeated, stiffening. "This sounds horrible! How could anything be better for it?" she demanded, her brow knitted in incomprehension.

The burnt corner of his mouth twitching just once, Sandor exhaled through his nose and smiled wryly. With his hands, he stroked her waist, his touch gentle yet strong. "It may be hard for you to understand, but I used to be pretty wild and troubled when I was younger. I really needed an outlet like this, one that allowed me to let my anger out. At least it meant I fought guys who were trained for this and knew what they were getting into. I still got into brawls every now and then, I'm not going to lie about it, yet I swear the buggers always asked for it first. I was never the one to initiate a fight outside of the cage. Or at least, I very rarely did."

Sansa kept silent, her lips pulled in a thin line and eyes lowered to Sandor's hairy chest. He was so muscular, so huge, really the fact that he had practiced ultimate fighting shouldn't be that surprising to her. People didn't get that brawny for no reason. You had to be on quite an intense training regimen to achieve this sort of physique. Still, Sansa was overwhelmed by his admission to having been attracted to the violence of the sport. There was something worrying about this, even a bit scary! What sort of person could enjoy violence? These revelations reminded her all too well of just how much he was a stranger to her. Sleeping with him had perhaps been a big mistake! Who knew in what she had gotten herself into?

Sandor seemed to sense her unease. "I've quietened down since then you know and stopped fighting a few years ago. You don't have to worry, little bird. I'm certainly no danger to you."

"Oh, that's not what I was thinking," Sansa lied.

Their nude bodies were still flush, but hers was as taut as a bow. It was so strange to be in such an intimate position with this man who was perhaps not who she had thought he was. _No, that's not true. I've always known there had to be something murky about him,_ she admitted to herself. Yet in all honesty, she'd most certainly never have agreed to follow him to his apartment had they had this conversation at the Strangerween party. Though he had assured her he had changed, the idea that he had once genuinely taken pleasure in hurting other people was still not very nice.

"Is this why you have so many scars?" Sansa asked in a will to take the attention away from how obviously uncomfortable she had grown. She gazed down at his torso. There was a really large scar marring it with no hair growing all along its length.

"Yes, most I got in the cage."

"In the cage? You've said that before, what does it mean?" she inquired softly.

"That's how the ring is called in ultimate fighting," he explained lowly. "Because it's enclosed in high metal fencing. You get a lot of your injuries from being shoved into it."

Wincing, Sansa averted her eyes from him. "Well, you did well to stop. It truly sounds awful!"

"I'm glad I stopped, because I'd have had a hard time convincing you to see me again if I was still active. I can feel it," he told her, closing his hands around her waist as if he feared she might recoil from him at any moment. "And even now, you're wondering what you're doing in bed with me."

Sansa hesitated. He was right, but she couldn't very well tell him that! What if it made him angry?

"You don't have to lie. I'd rather you tell me the truth. But this is just a sport I did. I'm not a killer, Sansa. And I never hurt a woman in my life either."

"I never thought as much!" Sansa hurried to retort. "It's just that... well, it's true that I'm... I'm unsure what to think. We come from very different background... it's a bit unsettling to be honest."

"I'm outside your comfort zone, am I?" he said. Removing a hand from her waist, he caressed her cheek with his knuckle. "I think you shouldn't let it intimidate you. I've never met a girl like you either, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to get to know you better. To the contrary. It's even one of the reasons why I'm so attracted to you. That and that pretty face and smashing body of yours."

With that, he trailed his hand down her neck, seizing the sheet she had over her and throwing it away to uncover her curves. His gaze travelled down her body lustfully, his palm rising to her breasts to mould them. Sansa let out a groan. Sandor's calloused fingers felt good on her breasts and soon, he was bowing over her to suck and lick her nipples, his hand finding its way between her legs. While she wasn't sure what to make of what she had just learned about him, Sansa still couldn't deny how delicious his touch on her was. She kissed him back when he pressed his lips on hers, reasoning that he was probably right - that she shouldn't judge him for a sport he had practiced, no matter how awful it may seem to her. And anyhow even if she was wrong, they had already had sex. Doing it again wouldn't make the situation any worse.

Still, when she looked upon the scars he had on his torso and arms as she later straddled him, Sansa kept trying to picture in her mind's eye how he had gotten them even as she restlessly rocked her hips against his. Her eyes half-closed, she could almost see him: in the cage, his opponent thrusting him into the fence and he, getting back at him a moment later, his body covered with sweat and blood as he hit him in the face with all of his strength. Sandor's features were contorted in pleasure, but he also looked very fierce and she was sure the expression he bore at seeing an opponent about to lose would have been similar to this. Gods, why were these thoughts getting her off? Sansa was bucking her pelvis frenetically now, moaning with no restraint whatsoever, as Sandor held her hips with his giant claws and powerfully shoved himself into her. Oh gods, it was _so_ freaking good! Her centre was pulsing, her folds so very sensitive... _Oh by the Seven_ , Sansa mused as her climax unexpectedly hit her. After having let out many long, lascivious whimpers, she collapsed onto Sandor's rock solid torso, exhausted but fulfilled.

"It's not over yet, Sansa. I'm not done with you," he breathed, his voice extremely hoarse and giving her shivers. As he spoke, he flipped her onto her back and plunged his hardened cock in her.

Sansa groaned, still dizzy from her previous peak. She could feel just how wet she was for him, more than she'd ever believed possible.

"Undo your braid, princess. Wanna fuck you in all your glory," Sandor bade her, moving his dick ever so slightly in her.

Sansa did as he asked and placed her long locks around her head over the pillow it rested on. Sandor grunted in approval and resumed taking her just as energetically as he had before. Sansa had her arms wrapped around his shoulders and was moaning and sighing with each of his comings and goings. She still couldn't believe she had actually come. And it had been such a good orgasm, she wouldn't say no to another one like that.

But it would be for later, for Sandor reached completion a few moments later. He didn't stay on her very long this time around and rolled onto his back instead, pulling her against him once he had rid himself of his soiled condom.

"Are you hungry?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Hungry?" Sansa repeated with disbelief. "But we only just ate!"

"It's been a few hours already. And with what we've been up too, I feel a bit peckish now."

"Well I don't, but don't let it stop you."

"I'll fix myself something," Sandor rasped, removing his arms from around her and sitting up. "We could watch a movie afterwards, if you'd like. Or if you'd rather go out again, there's a bar two minutes from here."

"No, I think I prefer staying here," Sansa replied. A part of her feared to come across Margaery or Loras as they climbed down the stairs and another was just too comfortable in Sandor's bed to wish to venture very far. The aftermath of her climax, added to the effect of the drinks she had consumed earlier had rendered her languorous and lazy.

"Alright then. Anything you want, princess," Sandor rasped, rising to his feet.

As he put on his boxers, jeans and tank top, Sansa sat at the edge of the bed and swept her gaze over the floor. She easily spotted her bra and panties, but remembered her dress was in the kitchen where it had all started. She slid on her panties, but left her bra on the ground and headed out of the bedroom to retrieve her dress. On her way, Sandor followed her with his stare, his eyes filled with desire. He stepped into the kitchen right after her, his eyes never leaving her. Sansa blushed madly and hurriedly put her dress and denim jacket back on, feeling nervous in a thrilling sort of way.

As Sandor cooked himself a grilled cheese, Sansa watched him from her place on the nearest chair, astonished that he had enough appetite to intend to eat what could easily have been a whole meal for her. Yet at his size, it was probably normal. He wasn't fat at all, was obviously as fit as anyone could be.

Sandor asked her questions about the North again and then, they both started commenting the news. From what they shared, Sansa was surprised to see that he actually seemed very aware of everything that was happening in the world, from the war which raged in Lhazar to the famine in the Red Waste, the upcoming elections in Westeros and the recent floods in the Summer Isles. While he didn't come across as being very educated with the way he spoke and presented himself, he was nevertheless apparently interested in more than body-building and ultimate fighting. She wondered if he liked to read, but there didn't seem to be a lot of books in his library. Curious, Sansa stood up and headed to it to have a look.

"Do you like to read, Sandor?" she asked him.

"I have a subscription to The King's Landing Time and I read it every day, or at least flip through it. I like to keep informed," he replied, pressing on his grilled cheese with his spatula.

Sansa had guessed as much from their previous conversation. She looked through the books on the shelves. There were a few big tomes about electrical circuits and other stuff related to Sandor's job, his van's manual, a BBQ cook book, a couple of dictionaries and an Atlas. Nothing that interesting as far as Sansa was concerned. Herself, she liked to read novels, her favourite being period novels.

Soon, Sandor's grilled cheesed was ready and he installed himself on a chair by the table, chewing on it and drinking what was left of his beer bottle. Sansa rejoined him and as she walked near him, he pulled her onto his lap. She squeaked, but then stayed there until he had engulfed his grilled cheese completely. He convinced her to take a bite of it even though she was not hungry. It was good, she had to admit, made with cheddar cheese with a lot of pepper and very greasy.

Once the grilled cheese was over, they both headed to the couch. Neither of them brought another drink or beer with them, though Sandor fetched his sport water bottle from his bedroom and placed it on the coffee table. After having sat down, he turned on the television with the remote control and opened Hotflix. There were many movies available which interested Sansa, but she wasn't sure if any of those were his type. What sort of films did a man like him liked to watch? _Probably action movies, like those Bran and Rickon like,_ Sansa surmised.

"Depends. Needs to have a good plot and the actors to be at least descent," Sandor answered when she asked him about it. "Not always the case with action movies. What I like is a good film. I can enjoy pretty much any genre, so long as it's well made."

Sansa wondered if that was truly the case. Would he really not mind it if she picked that romantic costume drama which she'd heard was really good? She doubted it and didn't feel like trying him out either. In the end, she told him she'd like to watch that new mafia movie all the guys in her circle kept raving about. Sandor would probably love it as well. He nodded when she proposed it to him, though he didn't seem to care all that much.

They started watching the movie, each sitting side by side over the couch. Sandor had his arm around Sansa's shoulders and she gradually leaned her weight into him, her legs folded under her. Even though his muscles were extremely toned and hard, she was comfy against him and she pressed the side of her face against his broad chest. His scent was strong; very masculine and musky but certainly not unpleasant.

The movie's plot was overly complicated and the protagonists kept yelling and cursing at each other. After more than thirty minutes, there had only been one female character, a prostitute seducing everyone, which had spent half of her screen time naked. Sansa wasn't certain it was her kind of movie at all, but she didn't comment on it. There were a lot of very violent and graphic scenes, one of the worst being when a guy began repetitively punching another in the face even though he had him already immobilised against a wall. Blood flew all around them and you could hear bones crushing very distinctively. Sansa shrieked in revulsion, hiding her face against Sandor's shoulder. Her reaction amused him and as she listened to his rough laughter, she remembered about his ultimate fighting. He had probably done very similar stuff while in the _cage_ , as he called it, and her stomach pulled in a tight knot at the notion. Still, she was not troubled enough that she felt like taking her distances from him and stayed right where she was even though her pulse had hastened slightly.

Sandor didn't seem very attentive to the film either. He was too busy stroking Sansa's hair, a gesture which she enjoyed very much. At one point, he let himself fall over his back sideway onto the couch and pulled her over him, inducing a squeak from her. His hands were on her ass almost immediately, cupping its cheeks firmly, and he began kissing her on the mouth hungrily. Sansa was glad for the distraction from the film and moved her lips with his just as eagerly. She ran her hands over his chest, touching him over his tank top. Soon, she could feel his erection poke at her through his jeans and she lowered her palm over it to rub it, heat rising to her face as she heard him groan. Sliding a hand under her skirt, Sandor pushed the crotch of her panties aside to finger her with one, then two fingers. Sansa whimpered softly, her touch on Sandor's shaft growing more vigorous.

"We should both undress," he muttered after a couple of minutes of that, panting.

Sansa nodded, her lips opened breathlessly. She rose to her knees to remove her denim jacket and dress and Sandor used the occasion to stand up and strip down. Then, he strode to his bedroom before coming back just a split second later with a condom.

Grasping both her thighs, he yanked Sansa to him until her butt hung in the air. Without missing a beat, he got on his knees over the floor and plunged his hardened cock into her, his comings and goings strong and fast from the get go. A rain of gunshots as well as many curses resounded in the room as the movie's protagonists went on a killing spree, Sandor's thrusts following the same crazy cadence. With one hand, he held her hip even as he stroked her clit with the fingers of the other. Sansa liked their position; it gave her a nice view of his heavily-built torso and the angle his penis entered her was simply perfect. Her hands clutched after the couch, she bucked her hips with him wildly, letting out many little cries of pleasure. If she had thought her folds to be responsive before, now they were twice as much, the fact that they had already had sex earlier no doubt helping in the matter. The bliss Sansa was experiencing was exceedingly intense and soon, she reached completion again, totally bewildered that it could happen twice in the same evening.

Sandor took her on all four after that, still over the couch. That was really good also, though Sansa was a bit unsteady on her knees and giddy after the emotions she had just experienced. His dick went so deeply into her that it hurt a little, yet for some reason, she didn't want him to stop and didn't utter a single word of complaint until he had come as well.

They both stayed nestled against each other after that, naked over the couch. In the movie, a group of men in impeccable suits were digging a grave for a body they had carried out of an expensive looking car's trunk, cursing and yelling at each other as they did.

"You're enjoying this so far?" Sandor asked her, his voice low and gravelly.

Sansa hesitated but she decided to go for the truth. "I've not been able to follow the plotline so well. It's not really my kind of film, I think..."

"I'm glad you're saying so. It sucks big time as far as I'm concerned."

"Really? You don't like mafia movies?" Sansa demanded, gazing at him with wide eyes. She had been sure it would be right up his alley.

"I've nothing against the subject matter in general, but this is simply not good. There's been too many movies going along those lines in recent years and this one's bringing nothing new to the table. It's full of clichés and of scenes I'm sure I've seen at least a dozen times before. We can watch something else, more to your taste."

Sansa agreed, sort of relieved to be truthful, but then as they searched for another movie on Hotflix, she realised it was already almost 1AM. "Oh, it's getting late!" she exclaimed, yawning, as if the mere fact of learning of the time had rendered her sleepy. "I should probably dress up and leave soon."

"Go? But where?" Sandor grunted, his brow creased in a frown. From the look of him, he seemed just as puzzled as displeased by her proposition.

"Home, of course," Sansa answered, unsure why he had to ask.

"You don't want to stay here for the night? I'm not throwing you out, you know. Besides, it's too dangerous for you to walk the streets alone at this hour of the night. I won't let you go," he stated, closing his hands more tightly around her waist.

Blushing, Sansa gazed back at him, her belly fluttering. While he had sounded sort of threatening, there was also something undeniably flattering about his response. From the instant they had met, Sandor had made his interest in her very clear and never tried to pretend like he was less into her than he actually was, as some other guys did. There was no misplaced male pride here and Sansa appreciated it. It made her feel wanted and which woman didn't like that? She would stay. She had already slept here last week anyway and besides, was too comfortable against him to truly wish to leave.

"Okay, I'll sleep here, but I need to text my roommate. I don't want her to worry about me."

"Of course, go ahead. I'd rather she don't call the cops on me too."

Sansa giggled. Yeah, it'd be best if it didn't happen indeed! Or then, Sandor might end up on _Westeros' most wanted_ in truth! Oh! She would rather not prove Jeyne right on that!

Grinning, she stood up and slid into her dress again, though she didn't bother to put on any underwear at all this time around. Her handbag was on the kitchen table where she had left it. After having retrieved her phone from it, Sansa texted Jeyne to warn her she wouldn't come back home at all tonight and went to the bathroom.

When she came back to the living room, Sandor had put his tank top back on as well as a pair of black sweat pants. He was reclined over the couch and gestured for her to lie down with him. Sansa did as he bade and installed herself before him. With the remote control, he was zapping from channel to channel, staying a few seconds on each. Eventually, he paused on an old black and white movie, the sort with very slow plot, elegant men and women and beautiful images that Sansa liked to watch sometimes.

"Oh, I love this kind of old movies," she whispered.

Sandor tossed the remote control over the coffee table and wrapped his arm around her.

"So, you've a roommate?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes. Her name is Jeyne. She was at the Strangerween party in fact, dressed up as a pirate. Perhaps you've seen her?"

Sandor uttered a noncommittal grunt that probably meant he did not remember her.

"She's from the North also and we both came here together before this semester," Sansa continued softly. "We've been friends since even before we started elementary school. She's like a sister to me."

A snort escaped Sandor's lips. "You don't have enough siblings as it is?" he japed.

Sansa giggled. "I only have one sister and though I do love her very much, we're utterly different. Jeyne and I are more alike, we've always had very similar interests." Then, after a moment of silence, she returned the question: "What about you? You didn't tell me anything about your family yet."

Sandor stayed silent for a moment, the arm he had around her grown motionless and stiff. "It's because there's not much to tell. I have no family," he rasped flatly.

"No family?" Sansa repeated, twisting into herself to look at him with rounded eyes. "What do you mean?"

"My parents died when I was young. I've been in foster care from the time I was twelve," he went on in the same detached tone.

"Oh, this is horrible!" Sansa let out, her eyes prickling like they always did just before they got teary.

"It's alright, Sansa. I've accepted it a long time ago and didn't turn out that bad either. No need to be sad for me."

Looking down, Sansa breathed in deeply and nodded. "Do you have siblings at least?"

Sandor snorted, the sound both derisive and bitter. "I've a brother, but he's not even worth mentioning. Trust me."

"Oh," Sansa said.

Sandor may have asked her not to be sad for him, she still couldn't help but be shaken by what he'd just revealed about himself. It was all so heartbreaking! Apart from Jon, she'd never known anyone with such a tragic story. Yet while her cousin had lost his parents as an infant, he had been raised in a loving family along herself, her sister and brothers. He had not found himself alone like Sandor had. It was hard for her to imagine how his life had been, almost impossible to be honest!

"Don't look so distraught. I don't want you to pity me, Sansa. I told you I was fine," Sandor reminded her with a hint of irritation in his voice.

Sansa nodded and retrieved her previous position with her head leaned against his chest. "Okay," she whispered as she returned her gaze on the television screen.

While she was itching to question him more about his past, she kept her curiosity to herself. He didn't seem inclined to pursue the conversation and the last thing Sansa wanted was to press him. It wouldn't be delicate of her, especially since in spite of what he pretended, she was convinced Sandor had to be more affected by his past than he let on. She could tell it by how tense he had grown for a moment, by his comment about his brother. There was still resentment there. What in the Mother's name could have happened that he had lost both his parents and feel so poorly about his own brother?

Whatever that might be, the little she knew about him did make more sense now. Sansa had been appalled when he referred to his attraction to the violence of ultimate fighting as a teenager earlier this evening. She hadn't understood it at all then, had even been a little frightened, yet with these new information, everything fell into place. Who wouldn't have rage in them after having become an orphan at twelve and lived in foster care from that time on till they came of age? That he had needed an outlet for his anger was only natural after what he'd been through.

Sandor had assured her that he was fine and told her he didn't want her to pity him and while she believed him and wouldn't do such a thing either, Sansa nevertheless couldn't help but see him in a different light. Though it might seem absurd looking at this hulking man, she now understood that as everyone else, there was a vulnerable side to him. She would respect him and not ask him to expose it if he didn't wish to, however, the realisation brought her to feel more at ease with him. He may be a formidable man, he was a man first and foremost. His scars and muscles lent him a fearsome look, yet she should let neither intimidate her.

 _I won't,_ Sansa resolved. It was the least she could do after all. And with that, she shifted over the couch and kissed him.


	12. Chapter 12

_Hi everyone! Chapter 12 is finally ready! Sorry if it took a while to deliver, but it's the longest yet so I hope you'll forgive me. :) I'm dedicating this chapter to DeathByMonkees who gave me an idea which I gratefully used in here. :D_

* * *

On Tuesday evening, Sansa was installed over her couch, studying in the pyjama her mother had given her on last Sevenmas. It was very pretty and comfortable, royal blue and adorned with little black wolves. Her mother had chosen it because it reminded her of Lady, Sansa's beloved Tamaskan - a breed of dog which looked just like wolves. Yet tonight as she looked down at it, Sansa couldn't help herself from thinking of Sandor. These could be hounds just as much as wolves after all. As she'd learned on last week-end, he used to be known as the Hound in the ultimate fighting world. Would he like her pyjama? _He would probably want me to take it off,_ Sansa concluded, a small giggle escaping her lips.

The last time she'd seen him was on Saturday afternoon, when she'd left after their night together. He had wanted to give her a ride home, but Sansa had refused, using the excuse that she'd rather take a walk and needed to stop by the grocery on her way back. Sandor had not insisted too much, for he appeared to have guessed she didn't want him to know where she lived. While she could tell he wasn't too happy about it, he obviously didn't want them to part on a bad note and thus tried to hide it. He invited her out again on next Friday, told her he would like to bring her to that other pub where they served that chocolaty stout he'd told her about. Sansa agreed and he yanked her to him and kissed her fiercely before she went out the door.

As she climbed down the stairs afterwards, Sansa had dreaded she might bump into Margaery or Loras, but it thankfully didn't happen. She walked home, thinking of her time with Sandor with a blush on her cheeks and butterflies in her stomach and texted him to thank him for everything later in the afternoon. It was only natural that she did after he had paid for her meal and drinks; her parents had taught her to always be grateful for the generosity of others and to let them know it was appreciated. Sandor had replied to her almost immediately, telling her she didn't need to thank him for anything, that he counted himself lucky she had agreed to spend any time with him at all, let alone the whole night.

Three days had passed since then and Sansa was still confused about her feeling concerning Sandor. When on last Thursday, she had decided to go to his place and ask him for his number again, she had been convinced she couldn't possibly wish to see this guy more than once. They were pretty much polar opposite and so what by the gods could they even talk about? Undoubtedly, it would be painfully awkward from beginning to end. Yet while it had indeed been awkward by moments, their date had ended up being surprisingly pleasant.

For the most part, Sansa had enjoyed Sandor's company. He did intimidate her, there was no lying about it. However, perhaps because of that, being by his side was oddly thrilling. Physically, he was such a formidable man – next to him, she felt as small and fragile as the little bird he claimed she was. On top of that, there was an intensity to him, one that could clearly be read in the strength of his stare. Often during their time together, she'd have sworn he could see right through her and read her every thought. It was a bit unsettling and yet, sort of exciting at the same time.

If there was one thing no one could ever say about Sandor, it was that he was boring. Sansa had never met anyone who spoke as plainly as him and while some of his manners and remarks were quite frankly appalling, it certainly made for entertaining company. They could speak of anything, even the most trivial subjects, and his views and opinions were always so different from that of anyone Sansa had ever known that it never felled to keep her interested in the conversation.

And, _yes_ , there was also the sex... It had even been the main reason why Sansa had agreed to this date, to see if she'd still be attracted to him when sober - and if it was the case, perhaps even to sleep with him again. She had to know if her positive response to their intercourse had not merely been a side effect to her drunken stupor and her memory of it overly amplified. It had become a question of sanity, she'd realised after a few days of continuously turning the events of the Strangerween night around in her mind. In order to cease doubting and wondering, she had to confront her nervousness and apprehension and see him again.

Even after she had made up her mind, Sansa had still been extremely conflicted about her decision and coming face to face with Sandor had not soothed her turmoil in the least. He looked like such a muscle bound brute – it was hard for her to understand how she could find any appeal to such a man, especially given the terrible burns he had on his face. They were quite gruesome and at beholding them in the sunlight when they first met at Baelor's Park, Sansa had really wondered what by the Maiden she was doing there.

It was so strange how one could be repelled by something and yet want it at the same time. The scars had not gotten any prettier as the evening went on and Sandor had certainly not become any less loutish. He'd been so forward with her, going as far as to tell her he wanted to shag her again only minutes after they'd finished their meal! Still, Sansa's qualms had not weighted much against his rough kisses and determination. He had easily convinced her to follow him to his place and was met with no resistance when he started undressing her. To the contrary, Sansa had surprised herself by being uncharacteristically eager, same as on the previous Friday. For some reason, having sex with him felt very natural.

They had done it thrice in the evening and once more in the morning - that time for nearly an hour - and Sansa was convinced Sandor would have approached her for another round had she stayed any longer. He apparently had an insatiable appetite where she was concerned and possessed the strength and stamina to see it through.

After all that fooling around, Sansa had been sore between the legs for more than a day and it even burned a little when she peed at first, but it had been absolutely worth it. She had never known such bliss in bed, never moaned so much, never peaked while in the act. She loved how much Sandor made her feel desired, like she was the only woman on earth, or at least, the only one that mattered. And he was so tall, so muscular... _everything_ about him was huge! Seven Heavens! The mere memory of his giant dick turned her on...

Frowning, Sansa sighed, annoyed with herself. Wasn't she supposed to study? Recalling how relentless Sandor had been with her would certainly not help putting her in the right frame of mind. Closing her eyes for a couple of seconds, she took a deep breath, before returning her attention to the Organizational Behaviour manual she had been reading, determined to focus on her task and ignore the warmth which had pooled down her lower belly.

For about thirty minutes, Sansa managed to keep her mind off of anything that wasn't the text she was reading, but then just as she was starting another chapter, her phone rang. She picked it up from the coffee table and gasped at seeing Sandor's number written on the screen. For a few seconds, she just stared at it with wide eyes, unsure what to do, until she finally shook herself and accepted the call.

"Hello?" she said, her heart beating fast. Her whole body was tense and her palm sweaty against her phone.

"Hi, little bird. How are you?" Sandor's hoarse voice came from the other end of the line.

"I'm doing well. How about you?" Sansa replied nervously.

"I'm fine. I've been thinking about you," he told her lowly. He sounded very relaxed, and Sansa pictured him in her mind's eyes, slumped sideway over his couch with the same black sweatpants and white tank top on he had worn when she'd last seen him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm studying. I've a test tomorrow." Sansa's book was still on her lap and she picked it up and placed it over the coffee table.

"A test? About what?" he asked in the same hushed yet rough voice.

"Organizational Behaviour," she breathed. Her pulse had still not slowed down and her stomach was fluttering.

"Huh? Not sure what that is," Sandor muttered dismissively.

"It's a study of how people behave at their workplace. It's very interesting," Sansa informed him shyly. Leaning into her couch, she folded her legs under her.

"Ah, okay," Sandor said, though he didn't sound convinced. "Do you think you could apply any of what you're learned so far to _The Hound Electrical Services_?"

"Isn't it a one-man company? Organizational Behaviour applies to _organisations_! Do you even have a single employee?" Sansa demanded, a small sceptical smile spreading on her lips.

"There's that accountant I pay to put my papers and bills in order every now and then," he answered nonchalantly.

"That doesn't count!" she let out, her brow knitted.

"Well then, perhaps I could hire you. Are you looking for a job? I think I'd like to have a pretty little secretary," Sandor told her, his tone somewhat playful.

Sansa knew he was japing, but she answered truthfully nonetheless. "My parents pay for my apartment, my tuition and give me an allowance as well. They don't want me to work during the school year."

"Too bad for me, I'd have liked to have you come work in my office a few hours every evening after school."

"You've an office?" Sansa inquired, surprised.

"Yes, in my apartment. In the same room I keep my weight lifting equipment."

"Oh, but that's not a true office! Just a home office!" Sansa exclaimed, her smile evolving into a wide, quizzical grin.

"Would've been good enough. I could've watched you work as I trained. Now, that would've been bloody nice."

Sansa blushed deeply and kept silent for a few seconds, unsure what she should add to that. She could hear Sandor breathing at the other end of the line and as she listened, she pictured how his chest would heave, the movement slow and powerful.

"Sansa..." he murmured, his tone more serious now. "Sansa, I'd like to see you before Friday. You could come to my place tonight..."

Sansa's pulse hastened at once. "I can't. I need to study!"

"What about tomorrow then?"

She wavered, unsure how to decline without coming off either mulish or brusque. "I... I don't know if it's a good idea... I have classes early on Thursday morning."

"That's fine with me. We wouldn't party or anything. I'm sure I have to wake up even earlier than you. And I live right next to your college besides, would take you five minutes on foot at the most to get there on the next morning. I'd give you a lift, but your first course probably doesn't start as early as my workday."

Though Sandor didn't know it, he was right in that he lived way nearer to her college than she did and that leaving from his place would save her a lot of time in the morning. Yet, Sansa didn't think seeing him so soon was a good idea. They had spent almost twenty four hours together when they'd last seen each other and that was enough for now, especially since they would go out on Friday night. It was preferable that they took things slowly and spacing their dates was part of that.

As was getting his custom, Sandor easily read her hesitation. "You don't have to give me an answer straight away. Think about it and I'll call you tomorrow afternoon. You could eat super with me, or join me later in the evening if you'd rather study first. Either would be fine with me."

"Oh, okay. I'll think about it. I'm not used to doing stuff during the week though. I need to focus on my studies. As I told you, my parents pay for everything for me and I don't want to disappoint them, so I work really hard to get the best grades possible."

"Such a good girl..." Sandor rasped. While his tone was mocking, there was also something akin to yearning in his voice. "I'll call you tomorrow, princess. I'm sure your test will go well."

Moments after they had both hung up, the entrance door opened. It was Jeyne. She worked as a lifeguard at the local pool a few times a week. Unlike Sansa, her parents didn't have the means to afford everything she needed here in King's Landing. While her tuition and rent were mostly paid for, she still had had to take a student loan and needed to work in order to have pocket money. Sansa did feel guilty about it sometimes, yet Jeyne seemed to really love her job. Moreover, it gave her an excuse to swim most days of the week, which she enjoyed a lot as it helped her keep in shape.

"How was your shift?" Sansa asked her friend as she entered the living room after having left her coat in the entranceway. She was wearing a large hoodie with blue jeans and a woollen beanie over her wet hair.

"It went well. That cute guy I told you about the other day came to the pool again today," Jeyne said, her cheeks turning bright red.

"Really? Did you get a chance to talk to him?"

"No, but I got an eyeful," she told her, letting herself fall into the couch by Sansa' side. "He's so cute and an excellent swimmer besides! You know I love a man who can swim. It was hard to keep my attention on anything but him. How about you?"

"I just spoke to Sandor on the phone," Sansa whispered, biting at her lip. It was her turn to blush.

"Oh, what did he want?" Jeyne demanded with a hint of concern. She still wasn't sure this _thing_ Sansa had going on with Sandor was such a good idea.

"To see me tomorrow," Sansa replied timidly.

"Isn't a bit soon? What did you answer?"

"I didn't agree but I didn't say no either. You're right: it's too soon. I don't want him to get ideas... I'm not interested in anything serious with him."

Jeyne eyed her suspiciously.

"It's true! I won't lie, the sex is good..." Sansa admitted, her cheeks burning hot. "But can you imagine me dating a guy like _him_?" she exclaimed, panic rising in her at the mere idea. "What would people think? Worst of all, _what would my parents think_? They would freak out, Jeyne! _Freak out!"_ Her eyes wide, Sansa lifted both her hands to her mouth in horror.

Jeyne didn't contradict her and just gazed back at her gravely. She knew very well she was right.

"Gods! He's fifteen years older than me! At least two metres tall and more beefy than anyone I've ever met! I'm sure my parents would take him for one of those doltish wrestlers we see on television on Saturday mornings..."

"He looks scary," Jeyne added, nodding in agreement. "These scars he has on his face, they're quite-"

"They're pretty intense indeed, I'll give you that! Still, it's not his fault if he has them, Jeyne!" Sansa cut her friend. Although it was certainly absurd since she had been the one enumerating all of his flaws just seconds before, Sansa felt suddenly protective of Sandor. He may have received most of his many scars while in the cage, the burns on his face had to have other origins and it was not fair to judge him for them. Sansa was not ready to believe any sport could be so violent and cruel as to inflict something so horrible on anyone. "My parents are not so close-minded that they couldn't look beyond his burns if it was the only issue with him," Sansa continued. "But I would never manage to make them see past his age and boorish looks! He really has nothing going for him, Jeyne! They would hate the way he speaks as well as his cocky attitude and on top of that, he doesn't have a lot of education from what he's told me. He used to be a bouncer and now, he's a blue collar worker-"

"Isn't he an electrician? That's a good job, Sansa! College and university aren't for everyone you know," Jeyne retorted, obviously piqued. "I would date an electrician. Though certainly not him."

"Okay, perhaps you're right about that..." Sansa admitted apologetically. Sometimes, she forgot Jeyne didn't have the same background as her and she had certainly not meant to come off classist. "Still, I wonder what my parents would say if they knew I was seeing a guy like him, one that used to compete in the ultimate fighting circuit."

"I don't think they would like it very much. I agree it's probably best your thing with him stays casual and that you keep it from them." Then, Jeyne's face lit up as it always did when she had a great idea. "Hey! Have you looked him up on the net yet?" she let out, jerking her head her way.

"What do you mean?" Sansa inquired, her mouth pulling in a thin line. Did Jeyne still believe Sandor to be a criminal or something? The notion that she might think so and hope to find out what felonies he had committed was unexpectedly vexing.

"You're not curious to see if we can find anything about his ultimate fighting career?" Jeyne asked. "Perhaps we'll see pictures and learn if he has won any important matches!"

"Oh, no, I have not looked that up yet..." Sansa answered slowly, her eyes growing round. How had she not thought about that?

"I'll go fetch my lap top in my room, just wait a moment!" Jeyne announced, jumping from the couch and striding toward her bedchamber.

Less than two minutes later, they were both sitting by the kitchen table with the laptop opened before them.

"Oh! But I don't even know what his last name is!" Sansa exclaimed in disappointment. "How will we ever know what to search for?"

"You're dating this guy and you don't even know his last name?" Jeyne repeated, dumbstruck.

"I just never thought to ask. Our thing is very casual, I told you already!" Sansa attempted to explain.

"Perhaps, yet I think I'd like to know the surname of a guy I've slept with," Jeyne insisted, incomprehension written all over her face.

A deep blush creeping on her cheeks, Sansa lowered her gaze in embarrassment. Jeyne was right. She ought to know this. "Oh! But I know what his moniker was at least," she let out, just as relieved to have remembered it as to have found something to change the subject. "He was known as the Hound!"

"The Hound? It suits him, somehow. Well, let's see if we can find anything…" Jeyne said, typing the words 'the Hound' followed by 'ultimate fighting'.

There seemed to be quite a lot of stuff and Jeyne clicked on the first link. It was an ultimate fighting league site, but there wasn't anything about Sandor at first glance, though he might be mentioned somewhere in the text.

"Let's just search for pictures," Jeyne proposed, going back. She had never been very patient.

Many photos appeared on the screen. Some were of actual dogs while others were of men fighting, Sandor among them.

"Ah! Look at that!" Jeyne cried out, clicking on the first picture to enlarge it.

Gapping, Sansa flinched, her back growing straight as an arrow. _Seven Heavens!_ she thought to herself as her friend clicked on yet another picture. While she recognised him well enough on both photos, he looked so different from the man she had spent the night with! It was not so much about his appearance, for he hadn't changed much since either of them had been taken. No, it was the expression he bore which made him appear so alien to her. If she'd thought him intimidating before, on these pictures he looked quite frankly terrifying!

"And you slept with _this_ guy, Sansa?" Jeyne asked, glancing at her in astonishment.

Sansa barely could believe it herself. Her heart racing in her chest, she watched as Jeyne kept scrolling down the page and clicking on more photos.

On all of them, Sandor had his long black hair tied back in a tight and low ponytail. He wore black shorts and back fingerless fighting gloves, but was bare-chested and had no shoes on. There were fresh wounds with blood dripping down his skin on many of the photos and his nose appeared broken on one of them. Although it had admittedly turned her on to imagine him fighting while they had sex on Friday night, Sansa still didn't like the sight of all that blood. It was one thing to picture something in your mind and another to see it for real. She was of a too empathic nature not to cringe at witnessing anyone being hurt, even if the person in question probably didn't care.

"Those poor guys! That hound guy you're seeing has probably broken all of their noses!" Jeyne let out, her gaze glued to the screen.

Indeed, Sandor obviously had the upper hand on the majority of the photos they looked at and even on those still images, it was easy to tell his strength was not one to mess with.

"What a brute! Sansa! Are you sure you should keep seeing him? Look at his eyes! He looks evil!"

"Those other guys don't look very friendly either, Jeyne! I'm sure it's part of the culture in combat sports to put on a facade like that. They need to look rough so as to intimidate their adversaries. Sandor is just acting," Sansa said, though truth be told, she did wonder same as Jeyne. Sandor had told her he had been attracted to the violence of ultimate fighting and he did indeed seem to enjoy himself on those photos, in a frightening, blood-thirsty sort of way.

"Oh, look, Sansa! There's a link to a video of him fighting just over here!" Jeyne pointed out. Without waiting for Sansa to reply, she selected it with her cursor.

Her heart in her throat, Sansa watched as the video started. In it, Sandor was standing in a corner of what she now knew was called the cage. As he had told her, it was akin to a boxing ring but of an octagonal shape and enclosed in walls of metal chain-link fence. The cage was surrounded by a thick crowd and its roar could be heard in the background. Sansa was surprised; it looked like an important match though the quality of the video was not so good. She wondered if Sandor had gained some sort of fame among his peers, if he had been known in the extreme fighting world while he was still active.

A deep scowl on his face, Sandor kept moving about his corner of the cage and hopping in place to warm up even as he glared around himself. He seemed restless and furious, like a wild beast locked up in a cage. It was easy to see where he had gotten his Hound nickname from. That's what he reminded Sansa of: an enraged, fearsome mongrel that wanted nothing more than to jump at the throat of all who approached him.

To her surprise, the view of all that irrepressible, animalistic vigour was making her belly flutter. It wasn't very logical. She would be totally petrified if she was ever to see him for real in such a state. That, or she would run from him as fast as she could from the moment he glanced her way! So why was she reacting as thus now?

There was a referee in the centre of the cage and he seemed so small next to Sandor and Sandor himself looked so brawny… At the other end of the ring, another man stood, his opponent in all likeness. The guy in question was almost as tall as him and just as muscular, which had not been the case for his other adversaries on most of the photos she and Jeyne had seen. The other man had long black hair, braided down to the middle of his back, copper-toned skin, a thick beard and dark almond eyes. After his braid, there were little bells which rang softly as he slowly walked to the middle of the ring.

"It's a Dothraki, isn't?" Jeyne asked.

"Sure looks like it," Sansa replied. She glanced up at the video's title. _Dragonstone's Ultimate Match,_ it said _. Oh, that do sounds fitting,_ she mused. Dragonstone was known for that kind of stuff. It was some sort of semi-independent state where people paid no taxes and almost everything was legal. Drugs, prostitution, gambling you name it. A frown always creased her father's brow when he spoke of Dragonstone and he had often encouraged Sansa never to visit.

As she was distracted thinking about all of this, Jeyne skipped to the middle of the video and they both let out shrieks of horror as it resumed playing. Sandor and the Dothraki were both bleeding from multiple lesions now. Kicking and punching at each another with staggering might, they were gradually approaching the fence, their huge muscles clenched and glistering with sweat. Then all of a sudden, the Dothraki took Sandor by surprise and brutally shoved him into the fence. Before he had time to raise his arms and protect himself, the man slugged him in the face a few times. Sansa gasped even as the roar of the crowd grew louder, lifting her hands before her eyes to shield them and turning her head from the screen.

"Oh! I can't watch this, Jeyne! This is too awful!" she cried out, her brow knitted as if she was in pain.

"It's turning around now, Sansa! Look! Your big brute of a date is taking his revenge now!"

Curious in spite of herself, Sansa reluctantly lowered her hands and returned her attention to the match. Sandor's cheeks were bruised and purple after the many blows he'd received and he looked as if he would soon have a black eye. Yet that didn't seem to matter much, for it was now he who was bashing at the Dothraki as the latter backed away from him. The sight of his relentlessness and of the wrathful look in his eyes sent a shudder down Sansa' spine. Sandor was glowering at his opponent same as if he wished him dead and wouldn't be content until there was nothing left of him but a pile of pulp on the floor. Even though Sansa didn't know the first thing about the Dothraki man and certainly hoped Sandor had won, she still found it hard to watch.

Unlike her, Jeyne didn't seem much sickened by all that violence. She was yelping and jumping in her chair with each of Sandor's blow, her stare fixed to the screen.

"I've seen enough, Jeyne!" Sansa exclaimed, rising from her chair and walking away. "It's too much for me! I don't have the stomach for this!"

"You don't want to know who won?" Jeyne asked, sounding disappointed.

"I don't care! I don't think it matters much! This match is in the past and Sandor has stopped fighting besides!"

"Hmm," Jeyne mumbled, closing her laptop. Then standing up, she walked to the fridge and began fumbling through its content in search of a snack. "Still sure you want to keep seeing him now that you've seen him in action?" she asked a minute later as she rejoined Sansa on the couch with a bowl of ice cream in hands. "These images weren't very reassuring. He could kill you with a single blow if he felt like it!"

"Perhaps, but he'd never do that, Jeyne!" Sansa retorted with unveiled irritation. "He told me himself he had never hurt a woman in his life."

"Why did he even broach the subject?" Jeyne let out, clearly not impressed. "Seems like a strange thing to say to a girl on a first date."

Sansa flushed. It did indeed sound odd out of context like this. "It wasn't strange, I swear it! He could sense I was worried about his past as a fighter and wanted to put me at ease, that's all."

Jeyne appeared doubtful. "If you say so. Still, be vigilant. He may have been very nice to you when you saw him, you still don't know him very well at all. Some men are good at hiding their true nature to begin with and you only realise who they really are once it's too late."

"I am being careful, don't worry," Sansa insisted.

Yet later on as she studied in her bedroom, Sansa couldn't chase from her mind the images of Sandor she'd seen earlier on. Shutting her eyes, she could still picture the hateful expression he'd bore as he repetitively struck the Dothraki. She was troubled by the memory of it. It was easy to believe the worst of him at viewing such footage and while she did not want to admit to it aloud, it did bring her to wonder if Jeyne was not right and he was not wearing a mask with her.

 _No, it's the other way around,_ Sansa decided after a moment of hesitation. _Or at least it seems more likely._ There was something so utterly genuine about Sandor. He was always so brutally honest and was clearly never bothered by the prospect that his words or actions might shock. Sansa couldn't believe all that could be an act. It was simply impossible for her to envision it may be so.

Though in the end, she did not think he was playing a game in the cage either. It wouldn't be like him to ever do so, he was too truthful a person for that. That darkness was part of him, just as much as that calmer side he'd shown her. It was a good thing he'd found an appropriate outlet to channel his rage into when he'd most needed it in his youth. Just the fact that he had chosen to do so instead of letting it free at all time was certainly commendable. As Sansa had learned last week-end, he had had every reason to be angry as a teenager. Many men with similar background didn't turn out so well and ended up leading lives of crime and violence – or so Sansa had heard on reports she'd seen on television.

There were many things she still didn't know about Sandor. He'd told her he was an orphan and that he'd been in foster care from the age of twelve, but he hadn't shared the details of it with her. It made her sad to try to imagine what might have happened. Perhaps Sandor would tell her about it in time, if they kept seeing each other long enough.

 _Gotta study now,_ Sansa reflected, shaking herself. However, it was hard for her to stay focused and for the remaining of the evening, she kept shifting from her books to her thoughts of Sandor.

* * *

On the following day, Sansa still couldn't stop thinking about the footage and pictures she'd seen. She was distracted while in class and on many occasions throughout the morning, she ceased listening to what her teacher was saying altogether without realising it. Her notes were not as tidy as usual and she ended up having to ask one of her classmates to lend her hers so that she could fill in what she'd missed out. It was not like her at all and so very embarrassing! Even Margaery noticed she was distracted as they ate lunch in the cafeteria together later on.

"So, what did you do this week-end?" she asked her even as she inspected her long, dark-red acrylic nails.

Sansa blushed, keeping her eyes on the tuna sandwich. "Nothing special. I had a big school project to complete."

It was true, she had spent all of Sunday writing an essay for her literature class, but her week-end had been occupied with other activities she was not about to share with Margaery. How would she react if she was to learn Sansa had spent her Friday evening and night being pounded by Sandor, right over her head? Gods, Sansa's face was burning at the mere idea!

Margaery eyed her suspiciously, but she didn't comment on her friend's cheeks sudden change of colour. "Want to go out on next Friday? It's been a while since we've went to the club together."

For a moment, Sansa didn't know what to answer. She was supposed to see Sandor this Friday, yet she couldn't very well tell that to Margaery! "I'd rather not plan anything ahead. I've so many exams to prepare for and projects to complete…"

"Oh, come on now, Sansa! You cannot be serious?" Margaery exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "You're not going to spend _two week-ends_ in a row studying? You're entitled to have a life too!"

"Well, we'll see. I mean, plan your night out without me and I'll call you if I'm tired of studying and advanced enough in the projects I have to finish for next week." Sansa hated lying. It made her feel so guilty and on top of that, she knew she was terrible at it. Unsure that she could keep up her lie convincingly if she was questioned any further, she stood up from her seat and picked up her handbag, her half-eaten sandwich still in hand. "Gotta go now, Margaery! I'm late for my next course!" And with that, she strode away from her before she could add a word.

One didn't need to be a seer to guess keeping this thing Sansa had going on with Sandor a secret would get increasingly difficult as time went on, especially given that Margaery was his downstairs neighbour. Anytime she'd go to his place, Sansa would need to be super careful and pray the Seven neither her friend nor Loras were in the staircase as she arrived or left Sandor's apartment. If they were to start seeing each other on a regular basis, she would probably have no choice but to tell Margaery about it. Still for now, Sansa was in no rush to announce it to her. There was no knowing how long their fling would last anyway. Perhaps only a few weeks and then, what would be the point of exposing herself to Margaery's judgment in that case? She'd rather wait it out and risk getting caught in the meantime.

For now anyway, Sansa had other matters to mull over. For one, she wasn't sure what to do about Sandor's invitation to come to his place tonight. All through the afternoon, she kept wavering about it. It was best she didn't go. She knew it. Yet the memory of him was never very far. Extract from the match she'd seen yesterday evening kept replaying in her mind and at other moments, she remembered the sex they had had last week-end. It would be nice to do it again, she couldn't deny it.

When Sansa went out of her last course and turned on her phone again, there was a message in her voice mail. It was him.

"Sansa, it's Sandor," he said, as though she wouldn't recognise his gravelly voice. Listening to it gave her shivers. It was so rough, like no other she'd ever heard. "My invitation still stands. I'd like to see you tonight. I can pick you up at your place later this evening, if you want. Give me a call."

Sansa walked back to her apartment after that and she listened to his message once more after she had eaten a salad with grilled shrimps. There was this picture of Sandor she had found yesterday while she and Jeyne looked him up on the net that she liked. He only had a few bruises on it and was standing near the cage's fence, looking very fierce. Sansa had saved it on her phone and she gazed at it every now and then when she needed a break from her schoolwork. His burnt face was glistening with sweat and the hairs on his chest were plastered to his skin. Though Sansa knew she ought to be repulsed at the view, she wasn't. He looked so unlike anyone she had ever met – and gods, she had to admit it to herself, the muscles were growing on her... It was not only about his physique though. There was something else about him, something she could feel and yet failed to put into words... But yeah, in the end there was no way around it... she did find him _hot_...

She would only have to ring him and Sandor would drive to her place in his van and pick her up at her door. It would be so easy, however, it was too soon. They would see each other again on Friday besides! Also, it was best he didn't know where she lived yet. Sansa's mother had taught her to be careful with boys, especially those she'd only just met and who didn't have any link with anyone among her close circle of friends. Although Sandor was most certainly not a boy, the warning still applied to him.

Nevertheless in the end, Sansa's logic and good-sense didn't prevail. On a whim after long moments of hesitation, she started filling her backpack with a change of clothes for the next morning, her pyjama, hairbrush, toothbrush and some makeup. _I'll go to his place on foot,_ she decided, looking at her phone to see what time it was. It was 8:30PM, she saw, biting at her lip nervously.

"Are you sure it's a good idea, Sansa? It's a bit late, isn't?" Jeyne asked. She was watching a movie, installed over the couch with a blanket pulled up to her chin.

"Not so much. I'll be nearer to school tomorrow morning, so I won't have to wake up as early." As she spoke, Sansa put her coat and scarf on. Underneath, she was wearing a loose, pale yellow blouse with a pair of skinny black jeans.

Jeyne gazed at her with her brow knitted and Sansa was sure she would say something for a moment, yet she didn't. Without losing a beat, she slid into her block heel ankle boots and went out the door before her friend had time to change her mind and decided to try to convince her not to leave.

The air was cold outside and thus Sansa put on the gloves she had in her coat's pocket and walked as fast as she could. As she headed towards his apartment building, she realised she had not called Sandor to tell him she was coming. There was no knowing if he had not ended up going out given that she had not given him any news so she decided to text him just to make sure he'd be there when she arrived.

 _Hi, Sandor! I'm on my way to your place. I hope you still want me to come. I forgot to ask you :),_ she wrote even as she walked.

Less than a minute later, her phone was ringing. It was Sandor of course. Her pulse resounding loudly in her ears, Sansa accepted the call.

"Hi," she said.

"Hello, Sansa. You really on your way to my apartment now?"

"Uh huh. I'm getting near Baelor's Park," she replied timidly.

"Why didn't you tell me before you left? I would've picked you up. This city's not the safest for a woman alone once it's dark," Sandor reproached her.

Sansa was a bit taken aback. He sounded genuinely concerned and even slightly mad at her as well. "I needed to stretch my legs. I like walking," she told him sheepishly.

"I'm sure you do, little bird, but you're not in Winter Town anymore," he continued, his voice a bit softer now. "I'll meet you halfway. Which street are you on now?"

"You don't have to," Sansa insisted, looking around herself. Were these streets really _that_ dangerous? It sure didn't look like it. _He's probably just being macho_ , Sansa surmised with a small smile on her lips.

"I'm coming anyway. I'm putting on my coat now. Where are you?" Sandor demanded.

"I'm on The Red Keep's way."

"That's a good choice. It's a busy street with a lot of streetlamps." There was an echo to his deep voice and Sansa could hear his footfalls too. He must be climbing down by the stairs.

"I'm always careful. I know not to take back alleys like the one behind your apartment building. I don't have big arms like you to defend myself after all."

Sandor snorted. "Thanks the bloody gods for that. You wouldn't be as pretty if you did. I think I prefer you without the coarse dark hair too."

His comment made Sansa giggle. "But at least I'd be able to fight off anyone who'd attack me!"

"You have me for that. I'll keep you safe, little bird, you'll see. Just watch if anyone ever dares looking at you the wrong way while I'm around."

She giggled again. Gods, how cocky he sounded! Though in the end, he was probably right. No one in their right mind would ever willingly get on the bad side of a man like him.

"So, how did that exam go, princess?" Sandor asked her. Behind him, she could hear the tell-tale noises of the streets: cars driving by, the distant wail of police sirens and the wind blowing in the receiver.

As Sansa told him all about her day, they both walked in the other's direction. It was sort of exciting, knowing that with each step they took, the distance between them grew shorter. Peering before her, Sansa kept hoping all the men she came across were Sandor, until they were near enough for her to realise they were far too small and skinny for that. At one point though, the shape of a very tall and broad man took form in the dimness and she knew she wasn't mistaken anymore. They both hung up and as Sandor approached her, she saw the look in his dark, grey eyes - so intense as always, it made her weak in the knees.

"Nice to see you for real again, Sansa," the man rasped lowly once they were in earshot. Sliding both his hands around her waist, he pulled her to him and bent down to kiss her.

Sansa had not expected that. She was not his girlfriend and this was definitely the sort of kiss a guy gave to his girl at meeting her! She wasn't certain she was comfortable with it, yet she didn't try to push him away as she should. No instead, she closed her arms around his neck and kissed him back.


	13. Chapter 13

_Hi to all reader! Sorry for the super long wait! Summer is always a busy time for me. I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter. Please leave a comment id you do. :)_

* * *

Sandor was bare-chested in front of his bathroom mirror, applying shaving foam to the left bottom-half of his face. His beard only grew on that one side, thanks to those burns he had received at his brother's hand as a child. These days, he could look at them without feeling the all too familiar anger rising in him, most of the time. That was what age did to you apparently. He had grown well accustomed to the sight by now and didn't have time to lose brooding about things he couldn't change. Not anymore.

When Sandor was done shaving, he cleaned his face with a wet towel and put on a black t-shirt with an old, dark grey plaid flannel shirt over it. With that, he was already wearing green combat pants and a dark-brown leather belt. While this was probably not how a man ought to dress for a date, well what else better did he own? It wasn't like Sandor had ever really cared about clothing. To him, so long as it was practical, comfortable and neither too gaudy nor trendy, it did the job perfectly and he would wear it for as long as wasn't threadbare.

After he had laced his boots up and put on his leather jacket, Sandor went out the door. His hair was still damp from the shower he had taken a half hour before, but it would have time to dry before his date with Sansa. There was still nearly two hours to go until they were to meet, so he might as well make the most of his wait and go out to buy a few things in preparation for their night together.

First off, he needed eggs, bacon and bread for their breakfast tomorrow morning. And perhaps fruits too. Women liked fruits with their breakfast, didn't they? The little bird sure struck him as the kind who would. Sandor snorted to himself. He should even get her some of that fancy traditional, probiotic yogurt they sold thrice the price of regular yogurt at the grocery store's organic section. She'd be delighted, he knew it already. He would get that for her as well as melons, strawberries, cherries and oranges, he decided as he climbed down the stairs.

There was that lively commercial street just a few steps from Sandor's place and he headed towards it. Fifteen minutes later, he was already exiting his usual grocery store with all the food he needed in a plastic bag. He slowly walked through the thick Friday afternoon crowd after that, in no hurry to get back home. There were many stores and shops all around him and Sandor peered through their windows, hoping to see something nice for Sansa among their displays. For a few days already, he had tried to come up with something he could give her, a present she would appreciate and which would show her she was more than just a fling for him.

The problem was, Sandor had no buggering idea of what that might be. He had no experience with girls of her sort and had never been very thoughtful with women to begin with. The kind of chicks he was used to going out with had been happy if he paid for their evening's drinks and got them some coke or pills for later on in the night. Well now, that was not something he would ever offer to Sansa of course. She was too much of a good girl for that. And besides, Sandor had stopped using drugs a few years ago, so it was not like he minded how straight-laced she was. To the contrary, he even liked it a lot to be honest.

She reminded him of the crushes he used to have, long ago, when he was still in high school. In those years, it was always straight A students who caught Sandor's eyes, the sort of girls who the teachers all adored and seemingly couldn't do wrong - who were always impeccably dressed with not a hair out of place, sitting in the first row so as not to miss a word the teacher said… _Just like Sansa,_ he imagined. Those girls were nice to everyone, even to him although his face was hard to look at. Sandor had appreciated that even if he knew it was nothing special. Often, he had used that weakness in them to his advantage, done stuff like keep a conversation going even if he knew the girl would have rather it stopped, or imposed himself as her partner when they had to team up during class. That was what happened when you were too nice to speak up, some guy like him would make the most of it.

Throughout his high school years, Sandor had had a few crushes like that. From his place further away in the classroom, he had enjoyed watching them as they took tidy, colourful notes in their girly notepads. Sometimes, he had followed them around the school's corridors and grounds, just far enough for them not to notice. It had all always been in vain though, none of his teenage infatuation ever led to anything apart from a great deal of frustration. Sandor's last high school crush lasted two years, until he graduated, but the most he managed was to convince the girl in question she should help him with his homework after school. She knew he did not have good grades and was too kind not to agree though she clearly wasn't interested in seeing him in other contexts. She kindly refused when he finally gathered his courage and asked her out, telling him she didn't want to date while still in high school. That was bullshit of course. She started dating that other guy just a couple of months later.

When Sandor began competing in the ultimate fighting circuit at about that same time, he learned there were women who had a taste for guys like him, but they were no good girls like the one he'd always fancied. More like wild, party girls who changed partner as often as they did their panties. They liked the thrill of being screwed by a beast such as him, wanted to measure themselves against him same as if his bed had been the ring they'd seen him fight in earlier on. It had suited him well enough for a long time, these kinds of non-committal, shallow relationships were easy, yet now that he had met Sansa, he knew he was ready for something more.

Sandor was pondering on all of that when he passed by a florist's shop. He halted to gaze at the stall which had been installed on the sidewalk just in front of it. _Flowers' a corny present,_ he mused, his features pulling in a scowl. Still, he kept looking, wondering which bouquet Sansa would prefer.

"Well, just look at that. Now that's something I never thought to see. The fearsome Hound, buying flowers," Sandor heard coming from behind him.

Frowning, he turned around to glare at Jaime. "I'm not buying any. Just looking at them," he retorted. Jaime lived not far from Sandor's apartment and while they did bump into each other every now and then, it didn't make this chance meeting any less annoying. He was with that gigantic and not so pretty girlfriend of his - Brienne she was called. She was wearing one of those plain dress suits she seemed to believe were the only acceptable uniform for a public prosecutor to wear. Jaime was freshly shaved and impeccably dressed. Sandor surmised they must be coming back from court. He nodded at Brienne.

"Hi," she replied flatly, giving him a small nod.

"I take it your date has gone well after all," Jaime let out cheerfully, clasping a hand to Sandor's shoulder. "I'm happy for you, man!"

"What makes you believe that?" he grunted, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"You're not thinking of getting a bouquet for yourself, are you? Unless you've finally decided to add a bit of colour to your apartment. I agree it's quite bland at the moment," Jaime told him just as amicably as if Sandor had shared his good humour. He was one of the rare persons who'd never been intimidated by his appearance and gruff ways. To the contrary, from the moment they'd met, years ago, Jaime had taken malicious pleasure in provoking him and Sandor would probably have given him a few black eyes back in the days had he not been his then boss' son.

"Go fuck yourself, Jaime," he told him, the corner of his lips curving faintly upward despite himself.

"Thank you, but I'll leave that to Brienne," the bugger answered with a pleasant smile. Blushing, Brienne gazed at him reproachfully, which he responded to with a falsely apologetic look. "Joking aside, Sandor, you've not called me since that last time I went to your house and you received a surprise visit from that cute eighteen years old girl. So how about that? Are the two of you dating now?"

By the way Brienne's mouth pulled in a frown, Sandor guessed she must disapprove of him seeing a girl so young, but it was not like he gave a rat's arse about what she or anyone else thought about it.

"How is she called again?" Jaime asked without waiting for him to reply to his previous question.

Sandor exhaled. "Sansa," he muttered.

"Yes, Sansa. You must be really taken with her. I've never pictured you buying flowers to anyone."

"Told you already, I was just looking at them. I won't be buying any. Flowers are corny, aren't they?" Sandor asked, glancing at Brienne.

It took her a moment to realise he had addressed her. They barely had ever spoken to each other – she probably disliked him from coming from Jaime's past. Before he'd met her and changed life, Jaime had been an attorney who'd only ever represented his father's associate and other organised crime related people. Though he had never had anything to do with organised crime himself, at least directly, Sandor had never tried to prove Brienne she was wrong in her misgivings about him and been happy to see Jaime without her. Thus her surprise at being questioned.

"It's old fashion and a bit cliché, that's true, but they can nice also," she answered eventually.

"Are you trying to send me a message, darling?" Jaime demanded her.

"No, I'm not. But I wouldn't mind it if you bought me some, of course," Brienne informed him, a shy, little smile curving her overly full lips.

That made him laugh. "Let's get you a bouquet right away then, what do you say? Let's see what they have inside," he proposed. "Are you coming with us, Sandor?"

Sandor thought about it for a second or two. He pictured himself in his mind's eye entering the pub he was to meet Sansa at with a bouquet of flowers in hands and winced. He'd feel like an utter fool - and even worse if she didn't like the flowers he'd pick. "No, I'll get her something else, if I can think of something. Have any idea?" he added, turning to Brienne again.

Once more, she was silent for a few seconds at first. "Hmm, well... you need to find either something you know that she likes or something that makes you think of her. These are the best presents, those that have a special meaning."

Sandor grunted and nodded. That was not really helpful, but they'd be no use in telling her.

Both Brienne and Jaime entered the florist's shop. "See you later, Sandor! Let's have a few beers next week. You'll have to tell me all about that new little girlfriend of yours."

"'Course," Sandor rasped as he walked away.

 _Something you know that she likes, that makes you think of her,_ he repeated inwardly, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching. That's what he'd tried to come up with all week, yet it was easier said than done. For a moment, he had considered getting her something expensive, like a piece of jewellery. Most women would have loved it, however Sandor feared he might scare Sansa off by being too generous, that she would feel like he was trying to indebt her to him. Besides, there was something indisputably personal about jewellery. Putting a necklace around a woman's neck was a possessive gesture and though Sandor did feel possessive of her already, he knew it was too soon to show it so plainly.

The girl may have slept with him a few times, that didn't mean he had won her for good. Sandor was not blind to how unsure she still was about him. It was best he be patient and allowed her to get used to the idea of him in her life at her own pace. That was not something he could force on her after all. In fact by attempting to do so, he'd probably even end up bringing about the exact opposite effect and convince her she wanted nothing to do with him.

Sandor knew he had already been quite insistent with her on a few occasions. So far, it had always worked out, but he had best not test her limits and push his luck one time too many. There was a fine line between the man who very clearly showed his interest and forcefully pursued the woman he wanted and the one who stalked and tried to control her. Sandor didn't want to be the last, yet he didn't want to seem like he didn't care if she ended up his or not either, for you could lose a woman like that too. Finding balance was crucial, but not so easy.

As if all this wasn't enough, Sansa was much younger than him and she perhaps didn't feel ready to be in a serious relationship just yet. Not that Sandor himself had ever felt ready before. For the longest time, he'd believed he would remain a bachelor till he was an old man and be happy of the freedom having no steady woman granted him. He was the first surprised by his recent change of mind and newfound desire to settle down. In the end though, at almost thirty four, it was probably about time. He'd just never thought he would meet someone he truly wished to be with, of who he didn't look forward to be rid of in the morning once the sex was over. While Sandor hadn't known Sansa for very long, he could tell already there was no fucking way he'd ever tire of her. She was just so bloody captivating to him, so special and every way... he really wanted to make that clear to her.

 _Just treat her like a bloody queen and make her come as often as you can, dog. Then if you're lucky, in time you'll end up convincing her being with you is what she needs, no matter her initial doubts._ Still in the meantime, getting her a nice present wouldn't hurt, therefore he had best come up with something before seven o'clock came. There were dozens of stores in the street he was strolling about, but not only did Sandor hate shopping, he was totally clueless as to what a posh eighteen year old college girl might like. There were handbag, perfume and jewellery shops all around him, but each time he spotted something he believed might do, he ended up thinking better of it the next instant and walking away, more frustrated than before.

But then just as he was about to head back home empty handed, something caught Sandor's eyes. Before him stood a princess in a beautiful pale green gown with long, full sleeves and a laced bodice, sitting side-saddle over a tall white horse. Both were real size mannequins, installed in the window of that shop where they sold all sort of stuff reminiscent of the Targaryen era. Sandor had never entered it, it had never seemed of any interest to him, but today the sight brought a smile to his lips. The mannequin reminded him of Sansa, his beautiful northern princess. It even had red hair too, though its was more orange than auburn. Her hair, how gorgeous it was. His smile broadening, Sandor entered the store.

* * *

Sansa and he had agreed to meet at Baelor's Park again like last Friday. Once more, Sandor was first to arrive, yet he wasn't worried that she didn't show up this time around. Last week after fifteen minutes of wait, he had begun to wonder if she had not changed her mind and decided she'd rather not go out with the scarred and uncouth brute he was after all. Today, Sandor had no such fear; he knew she was on her way.

"See you tomorrow evening," Sansa had told him sleepily when they'd last seen each other just yesterday morning as he left for work at 7AM. She had still been in bed, smiling at him sweetly, bundled up in his blankets. Sandor had insisted she stayed. There was no sense in her leaving so soon when her first course only started at 9AM.

Ten minutes earlier, they had still been having sex, the bed creaking noisily under them and Sansa moaning beautifully with each of his thrust in her. Sandor had taken his sweet time, not caring if he'd be late to the building site, and left himself just a few minutes to take a shower and get dressed, but it had certainly been worth it. There was nothing like awaking with a stunning woman in your bed and starting your day by taking her long and hard. He wanted more of that.

It was just before 10 past seven when Sansa finally arrived at the park. From the moment he saw her, Sandor stood from the bench he had been sitting on and walked to meet her. She had let her hair loose, was wearing a burgundy mini dress with calf high black boots and had a long dark grey coat on. Her lips were red, her deep blue eyes enhanced with a touch of dark eye shadow and she looked very hot.

"Hi, princess," Sandor rasped.

"Hello, Sandor," she answered with a blush on her cheeks.

Sandor smirked at her. Her shyness was just so damned fetching. "Come over here now," he bade her lowly, pulling her against him with his hands around her waist.

He kissed her for a long moment, not caring if people were watching. He knew anyone could tell from a glance just how much older than her he was, that some people would judge him for it, think he was taking advantage of her. He'd received a few reproachful glances on their previous date, from women mostly. Just a couple of hours ago, Brienne had given him the exact same look after Jaime had referred to Sansa. Yet none of it mattered to Sandor. With the face and build he had, people would stare no matter what he did, so he might as well give them a good reason to.

"You hungry now?" he asked Sansa after they'd broken their kiss.

"Hmmm hmm," she answered with a smile. Her face was flushed and he caressed her cheek with his thumb, his other fingers still in her hair.

"Let's go then."

With that, Sandor led her to a pub called The Harbour Maid. As its name suggested, it was just by King's Landing historical harbour. The place had a large terrace overlooking the Blackwater bay, but it was too cold to stay outside and thus only a few smokers were brave enough to have their drink out there. As for them, they headed inside to a table by a large window.

Last week, Sandor had talked at great length of The Harbour Maid's chocolaty stout to Sansa, yet truth be told, he wasn't sure if she would like it. Stouts were rarely the kind of beer novices enjoyed; there was always some degree of bitterness to them. Thus when the waiter arrived at their table, he ordered a stout for himself as well as that set of five very small glasses of beer they had on the menu for Sansa. That way, she would find out which beer she preferred and not be stuck with one that was not to her taste. While she did agree it was interesting, as Sandor had predicted the stout proved indeed too bitter for her and she ended up ordering a glass of wheat beer.

They ordered their meal, him a burger and Sansa a fancy salad with expensive cheese, nuts, dried fruits and some sort of white fish Sandor had never heard of before. She gave him a few bites and while he ate, she told him how she had first tried that sort of fish while on a family vacation in the Summer Isles.

"What a well travelled little bird you are," Sandor teased her, his comment making her cheeks colour.

Truth be told though, he was starting to envy her. At his age, he had never left Westeros nor been north of the Neck and here she was at eighteen, having travelled to all Free Cities, Dorne and now the Summer Isles as well. And that was just what she'd share with him so far, who knew where else she had been...

"It's good," Sandor admitted once he had swallowed his last mouthful of fish. Still, he gladly returned to his half pound beef burger with bacon, cheese and a mountain of crispy fries on the side. Real men needed meat and carbs to function properly - lettuce and flaky white fish couldn't serve as more than appetisers to him.

After they had both finished their meal, they chatted for a while of everything and nothing. Sandor was being good. By that time last week, he had already dragged her to his place with the unhidden intent to have her all night. Even before that, his hands had been all over her. He told Sansa as much and it made her laugh and blush at the same time. Winking at her, he stroked her thigh under the table, yet it didn't go so well with it standing between them. No wonder he was being so good.

When the waiter passed them by again, Sandor ordered himself another pint of beer and Sansa asked for a piece of lemon cheese cake with a cup of Tyroshi Coffee. She ate her dessert very slowly and shared a few bites with him. Once her plate was empty, Sandor decided it was time he gave her the present he'd found for her at the very last instant this afternoon. He was pretty confident she would like it, still, he was nervous as he reached for his combat pants' lower pocket. That was odd. Sandor was not very often nervous, even less so with girls nearly half his age. Not that he was used in spending time with eighteen years old girls. He'd never dated someone so young, even when he was that age himself.

"I've something for you," he announced nonchalantly as he put down the little package on the table.

"Really?" Sansa asked, her eyes widening. She seemed surprised, yet curious.

"It made me think of you," Sandor told her, remembering Brienne's words. As he spoke, he pushed the package to her.

Sansa gazed down at it, blue eyes sparkling, but did not move to grasp it. Just as Sandor was starting to get impatient, she finally reached for it and began to open it very delicately.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "It's beautiful!"

"You like it?"

"Yes, of course I do! Thank you," she said as she carefully turned in her hands the carved wooden brush he'd gotten her. "It's inspired from the Targaryen era, isn't? I recognise the style of the carving. We have a lot of furniture carved in that his fashion at Winterfell."

Sandor nodded, feeling a hint of pride that he'd managed to find something right to her taste. "I bought it at a store that specialise in that kind of stuff. Reminded me of that costume you wore at the Strangerween party. And the bird over its back reminded me of you."

"Yes, _little bird_... that's how you call me," she whispered with a smile, still gazing down at the brush. "Thank you so much. You didn't have to."

"I know I didn't, but I wanted to. Such a striking little bird like you deserves beautiful things. That, and a big, bad hound by her side."

His comment made her giggle and Sandor cracked her a grin, satisfied with himself.

* * *

The mattress was bouncing under them and the bed groaning so loudly Sandor was sure the Tyrells downstairs could hear it. He didn't give a fuck about it though, not now that he had the little bird moaning so sweetly under him. She looked like such a good girl outside the bedroom, exactly as Sandor liked, yet when he fucked her, she was a wild and eager little thing. He had never screwed a woman who'd been so obviously enjoying herself. Not that Sandor had ever doubted he could do his part with a woman – none of those he'd had sex with in the past had ever complained about his performance and many had come back for more afterwards. No, it was just that Sandor had never cared so much about his partner's pleasure before nor found a woman so well suited to him.

"Ooh!" and "Aah" Sansa kept repeating as he pounded his cock into her.

His fingers over her clit, he was coming and going between her pretty, white thighs, enjoying the feel of her lithe arms around his neck, of her slender fingers stroking and scratching his shoulders. She'd never admitted as much, still Sandor was not blind to the fascination his muscles exerted on her. From that very first time they'd met at the Strangerween party two weeks ago, he'd been very aware of it. While drunk, she'd unwittingly felt his bicep and chest even before they'd left the Tyrells's apartment. It was not the first time something like that happened to Sandor. Some women were curious to see how it'd be to be banged by a man of his bulk and approached him solely for that reason. He'd brought a few back home that had clearly viewed him as an experiment of sort, yet as Sandor himself had only been interested in a quick fuck, it had seemed like a fair enough exchange. With Sansa, he hoped it was more than that, that her curiosity had been piqued as much as his and that in time, she'd come to realise he was what she needed.

 _She's on her way. Just look at her, dog,_ Sandor mused, his gaze locked with hers. There was an intensity to her, passion shining in her eyes. He kissed her, his hand going from her perfect, full breasts, to her hip and thigh. Gods, how she turned him on. He came moments later, grunting as she held him in her arms.

* * *

As on the previous week, Sansa stayed with him until Saturday afternoon. They ate a late breakfast almost at noon and had sex multiple times. When time for her to leave came, Sandor had to fight hard to resist the urge he had to insist after she refused his offer to drive her home, telling him that she'd rather walk. It frustrated him, made him itch to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to his van willing or not. Why did she have to decline each and every time? All he wanted was to do the right thing and give her a ride home, by the bloody Stranger! It felt wrong to let her go on her own like that, as if he was failing her, somehow. _She only wants to be sure you're not as unsavoury as you look, that she can trust you before you learn where she lives. She's being smart and playing safe,_ Sandor reminded himself _._ If he didn't wish to prove Sansa she'd been right to be careful, he had best behave and let it go, for the time being at least.

"Wanna see you again soon. Will you come visit me this week also? You won't leave this old dog alone for very long, won't you?" Sandor asked, holding her close to him. His hands were slowly moving on her, travelling from her thin waist to her pert little butt.

Sansa giggled. "I'll come on Wednesday again, if that still works for you."

"'Course it does. You should arrive earlier this time around and eat dinner with me. I'll order some food from that Dornish restaurant not far from here. It's really good, I'm sure you'll like it."

She nodded and Sandor kissed her. As they parted lips, he squeezed her ass just firmly enough to make her squeak. Gasping, Sansa sent him an affronted look before bursting into laughter and going out the door, a wide smile on her lips as she looked back at him one last time.

After she had left, Sandor opened himself a beer and watched the football game on television, slumped into his couch. He wasn't very attentive, kept thinking of Sansa and all the ways they had fucked yesterday and this morning.

She'd told him she had only had one boyfriend so far, Harrold he'd been called, and that she'd only ever had sex with him before Sandor. There was appeal to the notion – there was no lying about it - still even picturing her with that one other guy was enough to rouse jealousy in him. It didn't make any sense of course, he had not even known she existed back then and besides, she'd been a real teenager, seventeen when Harrold and she had broken up, and Sandor would've known better than to approach her then. The laws of men were undeniably absurd. With one number, she was a child who could get him arrested and with the next, she was a woman he could do whatever he wanted with – so long as she had consented first, of course. A good thing he had not met her before. She would've been hard to resist, legal or not.

Without realising he was doing it, Sandor opened his phone and searched for her name on the net. Sansa Stark. The last name didn't suit her, she was anything but stark. If there had been any logic in the surname people got, she would've been called Sansa Sweet, or Sansa Beautiful. Something corny like that.

He found her facelog account. Though Sandor did not have an account himself, he was able to see her main profile photo. How pretty she was on it, smiling before a magnificent mountain scenery. It was probably some of those northern mountains she'd told him about. Sandor wondered if she had posted other pictures of her which he couldn't access to because he wasn't among her facelog friends. Perhaps there were older photos of her with her ex. The thought was not a pleasing one and awoke that feeling of possession again, so he chased it away as best he could.

 _Winterfell Castle Resort and Spa_ , Sandor typed on his phone afterwards, using only one finger. He easily found the resort's site. There was a picture of the castle on its first page, and it appeared very old and austere in an oddly striking fashion. _Stark_ , well now that did sound fitting seeing what Winterfell looked like. Sandor scrolled down the page. There were many pictures of the castle, inside and out, as well as of the land which surrounded it. _Celebrate your wedding at Winterfell Castle_ , was written atop a series of photos of people dressed as knights, minstrel, lords and ladies. On one of them, Sansa was sitting before a grand piano and singing. She was wearing what looked like the same dress she had worn at the Strangerween party and had her hair up in an elaborate hairdo with lots of braids and jewelled brooches. Smiling, Sandor looked at the picture for a long time.

Down the page, there was a family photo. Sansa with her siblings and parents, all standing before the castle. _Lord Stark and his family_ , said the text just under. For a second or two, Sandor just stared at the screen, motionless. Yet eventually, comprehension hit him and he abruptly sat straight in his seat and approached his face to his phone.

"Lord Stark?" he repeated aloud, his eyes wide with disbelief.

 _Inheritor of a line thousands of years old, Lord Stark keeps the memory of his ancestors alive by sharing his family's rich legacy with his visitors. Once upon a time, Starks ruled the North as kings, but these faraway days don't seem so far when you spend your vacations at Winterfell Castle Resort and Spa, being treated like queens and kings yourselves,_ Sandor read in utter stupefaction.

"Well then, fuck me all the way to the Seven Bloody hells," he muttered to himself. His face splitting in a wide grin, he began chuckling, quietly at first, but then after a few seconds of that, he was laughing well and truly. By the fucking gods! She was a true princess! Or at least, as close as anyone could be in this buggering republic they lived in. _A fucking real-life princess!_


	14. Chapter 14

_Yay! That one was fast to write! I hope you all enjoy. Please leave a comment if you do. :)_

* * *

 _Mmmm, it's really good,_ Sansa thought as she ate some of the yogurt Sandor had bought for her on last Friday. It was her favourite brand and she had been surprised when she'd seen he had some in his fridge. She had added fruits and granola cereal to it and it made for an excellent breakfast.

Sandor had left for work about an hour before, but told her to stay anyway, like on the previous week. It was a little strange to be alone in his apartment and made her feel as if she was intruding and being nosy each time she had to search for something. The feeling was worsened by the fact that she still didn't know where most things were and always had to open all the cabinets before she could find what she needed. On the bright side, it had allowed her to take note of just how disparate Sandor's dishes were. It seemed as if he didn't possess a single plate, bowl, spoon, knife or fork alike. On top of that, almost half of his kitchen cabinets' space was filled with beer glasses and pints. He was an old bachelor, no doubt about it...

Just as she was finishing her last spoonful of yogurt, Sansa's phone rang. It was Sandor and she picked it up right away, glad to get to speak with him again.

"Hello, Sandor," she told him happily.

"Hi, little bird. How are you?" his hoarse voice came from the other end of the line.

"I'm doing well. I just had breakfast and I'll be leaving for school in a moment."

"Good. I don't want you to be late for class," he said in that smug way he had sometimes. Then more serious, he added: "Little bird, I think I forgot my wallet. Could you look over the night table if it's there for me?"

"Of course," she answered. Standing from her chair, she headed inside the bedroom and saw it right away. "Yes, it's there. Are you going to come back to fetch it?"

"No, I just wanted to make sure I had not lost it. I'll be alright without it just for today. I've brought myself two chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches and enough snacks to last me until the end of my shift. So long as I don't get pulled over by cops as I drive back home and asked for my licence, I should be fine."

"Don't drive too fast then!" Sansa bade him.

"I won't. I'd hate for you to have to pick me up at the police station tonight. Wouldn't look so good, would it?"

Sansa burst into laughter. "I'd know it wasn't your fault! I wouldn't judge you for it and come right away, I swear!" she assured him.

"Well you touch me here, Sansa," he said in a rough murmur. "Gotta go now. You'll ring me later tonight, won't you?"

"Of course I will," Sansa replied without hesitation. Since last Saturday, they had talked on the phone and texted daily. Though it sometimes was just for a few minutes, it was still nice to hear from him. "Have a good day, Sandor."

"You too, princess."

They both hung up and Sansa put down her phone by Sandor's wallet over the night table. Then, out of habit, she made his bed, just as neatly as her father had taught her. Though Sandor's apartment was pretty tidy for a guy's, Sansa had noticed he most often left his blankets in a heap over his mattress. Her father would have frowned at that: a sloppily made bed was one of his biggest pet peeves! There was no way she left any bed undone having been raised by him...

Once she was done, Sansa went to pick up her phone from the night table, yet ended up seizing Sandor's wallet instead. It was apparently very old, its leather being all cracked. She sat down on the bed and opened it, curious to see how he looked like on his driver's licence photo.

"Oh!" Sansa let out, giggling. Had she not known any better, she'd have taken it for a convicted criminal's mug shot! Wow, he didn't look very friendly with that scowl on his face - not the sort of man you'd want to mess with! – yet oddly enough, Sansa could feel warmth pooling down her belly. _Sandor Clegane,_ was written in bold letters next to the photo. He'd already told her his surname on last Wednesday. After her conversation with Jeyne, Sansa had made sure to ask him - she had felt so foolish for not knowing!

Just below his name, his birth date was indicated. Sansa's jaw dropped as she read it. His nameday was in just over a week from now! And, _oh my gods_... He was going to turn _thirty four_! Her heart hammering in her chest, she put the card back into Sandor's wallet and let it sink in. _That means we've nearer to a sixteen years difference than fifteen,_ she mused with a hint of dread. What would her parents think if they knew? It was even worse than she had believed! They would completely, utterly freak out! _It's not like I have to tell them,_ she reminded herself. It was true, still she remained nervous as she placed Sandor's wallet back on the night table. Taking her phone in hand, she found her handbag and tossed it inside.

 _Why haven't he told me his nameday is coming soon?_ Sansa wondered as she entered the bathroom. _Perhaps he simply doesn't care_. Sandor had no family and it would make sense that with no one to celebrate it with, it was just another day for him. The notion saddened her and she decided then that she would try to come up with something special they could do for his nameday, but keep her intention secret until then so as to surprise him.

Using the beautiful brush Sandor had given her, Sansa tidied her long hair and fixed it in a ponytail. After that, she applied a touch of makeup, gathered her things and put on her coat. She went out the door, locking it from inside as Sandor had instructed her, and climbed down the stairs. Her mind was busy trying to figure out which kind of cake Sandor would prefer when, on the landing, a door suddenly opened.

" _Sansa?!_ " she heard coming from the threshold. "Sansa, what in the Seven Hells are you doing _here_?" Margaery was exclaiming, her eyes rounded in an expression of utter disbelief.

 _Oh, gods! I've been caught!_ Sansa thought, feeling her whole body colour bright red in a split second. Her heart in her throat, she very reluctantly halted and turned to face her friend. "Oh, hi, Margaeary... I… I was..."

"Don't even try! I know very well where you were!" Margaery cut her dryly. Her mouth was pulled din a thin line, her eyes narrowed.

As always, she was impeccably dressed, as if she was about to go out rather than head to college. Her dress was black and skin-tight and over it, she wore an unbuttoned light beige trench coat. The heels she had on were so high, Sansa's feet hurt just to gaze at them. In contrast, she looked like such a teenager with her ponytail, skinny blue jeans and turquoise converses. A blushing, sheepish teenager that was getting scolded by a displeased parent after having been caught being naughty.

"You were with Sandor! It's obvious, it's not like you know anyone else who lives in my apartment building," Margaery hissed. She swung the door closed behind her, a loud bang resounding in the staircase, and took a step toward Sansa. "I can't believe you're still seeing him! Oh! And I can't believe you didn't tell me about it!" she chided her, her brow furrowed. Margaery hated being left out of anything.

Lowering her eyes, Sansa kept silence, too flustered to speak.

"I don't understand!" Margaery continued. "Didn't you tell me sleeping with him had been a horrible mistake?"

Her choice of words made Sansa wince. Though the circumstances were certainly embarrassing, to hear Sandor being referred to as a 'horrible mistake' grated on her. "That sounds harsh, Margaery," she started, shyly raising her stare to meet hers. "I never said as much, or at least, not like that!"

"Well you did seem to regret it when you came back to my house to fetch your purse on the following morning, you can't deny it. Told me he wasn't your type and that you were simply too drunk! Was it all a lie?" she asked. Folding her arms over her chest, Margaery gazed at her suspiciously.

"No, I swear I was being truthful!" Sansa insisted, suddenly fearful that she might indeed be coming across as false. She had not really lied, just kept some of the truth from Margaery, yet the fact the latter might see it differently roused a feeling of guilt in her. "It's just that… that... I don't know!" she went on, wringing her hands nervously before her. "He gave me his number before I left his apartment. I truly thought I would never call him back at first. I didn't understand what had gotten into me to sleep with him in the first place! Still, I... I ended up ringing him on a whim. I guess I was..." she wavered, unsure how to phrase it. "Intrigued? He's just so different from anyone I've ever met!"

Margaery snorted. "Different, I bet! Nearly seven feet tall and muscled like a bull - with a burnt face on top of that! - I agree you don't see that at every turn! I don't imagine that sort of guy roamed the corridors of that private high school you went to last year. If it was 'different' you were looking for, you have found it with him to be sure. You've went from that handsome preppy ex boyfriend of yours to the most mean and tough looking guy in King's Landing!"With that, she shook her head and laughed, as if she couldn't believe it.

Sansa added nothing to that, her fingers busy fumbling with her handbag's strap. Her palms were clammy and she could tell her face was as red as her hair. To say that the situation rendered her uneasy was quite an understatement. Still, she could understand Margaery's reaction. This was undeniably a huge change for her, one she would never have predicted in a million years!

"Is that why you could never go out when I invited you these past two weeks? Why didn't you tell me the truth instead of pretending you were studying?" Margaery reproached. While there was still a hint of annoyance to her tone, she wasn't really angry anymore and the awareness made Sansa feel better.

"I knew you would be surprised about it and ask all sorts of questions – as you're doing now - and I wasn't sure I would keep seeing him anyway, so I thought it better that way… "

"Well I gather you must be starting to sure by now," Margaery stated, a wry smile pulling at her lips. "It's been what? Two, three weeks since the party? How often have you been seeing each other?"

Sansa hesitated, a bit taken aback by her assumption. "It's going to be three weeks tomorrow evening, yet that's not so long Margaery! I'm still not sure of _anything_!"

Rolling her eyes, Margaery sighed exasperatedly. "Come on, let's head to school. We can keep talking as we walk."

Sansa bit at her lip and nodded. Her heart had still not regained its regular pace, but she was growing more relaxed. _It was bound to happen,_ she reflected as she followed her friend. Margaery was Sandor's downstairs neighbour: that she never got caught as she left or arrived at his place would've been nearly impossible. _At least it's done now. I won't have to hide and worry I'll bump into her or Loras anymore._

Once they had climbed down the remaining flight of stairs and stepped outside, Margaery turned to glance at Sansa. "The sex must be really good," she said with a small smirk on her lips.

Her whole body growing aflame in a heartbeat, Sansa gazed at her in astonishment. " _What_? Why would you say that?" she replied, her voice as high pitched as a mouse's squeak.

Margaery grinned that wicked grin of hers she always had when she spoke of sex. "He must really be doing something right for you to be willing to put up with those scars and that awful personality he has." Her eyes sparkling mischievously, she added as lightly as if he was commenting the weather: "I'm surprised, Sansa. You're so straight-laced where everything else is concerned. I'd never have suspected you'd have a taste for rough sex."

Sansa blushed even more deeply. Scenes from her previous night with Sandor flashed in her mind. It was true he was not exactly the gentle lover she had always dreamed of, yet it was somehow... even better for it...

Ignoring her last comment, Sansa frowned as her friend's following remarks dawned on her. "The scars are not so bad, Margaery! I got used to them by now. And his personality is not awful!"

Both of them stopped walking as the traffic light of the boulevard they were about to cross turned red. There was a lot of traffic this morning and it was very noisy.

"Are you sure?" Margaery shot back, glancing at her with eyes filled with doubt. "From what I've seen, he's got a temper and he never seems to be in a good mood anytime I see him."

"I don't think you know him very well. He can be very pleasant company actually and very funny as well. He makes me laugh all the time! And he's always really nice to me."

"No wonder, you let him shag you," Margaery pointed out, furrowing her brow same as if Sansa had just said something stupid.

"It's not just about that," she countered. "Harry was my boyfriend and he was never so nice to me!"

"Harry was an asshole, you told me yourself."

"He was. But the point is Sandor has more going for him than you think. And unlike Harry, he's not an asshole."

The light turned green then and they both resumed walking. They would arrive on the school grounds in just a minute. Sandor and Margaery really lived near Sansa's college and she did envy them for that.

"Alright, as you say," Margaery agreed dismissively. Then as an afterthought she smiled and said: "So, sounds like you're quite taken with him."

Sansa grew stiff, her gaze darting to her. "I'm not taken with him!" she all but cried out.

"Are you sure?" Margaery demanded, clearly sceptical.

"Yes!" Once more, heat was rising to her face. Gods, she must be turning bright red all over again! "I do like him as a person - he's a good guy despite the appearances - but our thing is very casual!"

There were a lot of young adults around them, all students heading to school, and some were glancing in Sansa's direction. Had she really spoken that loud?

Margaery rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay! Don't take it like that. You must know your own feelings better than me, I guess," she said with laughter in her voice.

They arrived at school at that moment. Sansa was relieved. This conversation had lasted long enough to her taste.

"Gotta go now! See you this afternoon at the art class," she told Margaery as she ran in her first course's direction.

As she listened to her teacher later on, Sansa was distracted, kept thinking of her exchange with Margaery.

Sansa hadn't liked her comments about Sandor. She knew very well what impression he could give. He could look very intimidating indeed: she had hardly been able to bear his gaze at first! And his scars, they were very intense, there was no denying it! Yet knowing him as she did now, hearing such remarks about him wounded her. Though he didn't talk about it much and was certainly not the type to complain, he had suffered enough in his life. That he had to be judged for his looks on top of that was so unfair that it angered her!

Also, she kept thinking about Margaery's insinuations. She had hardly seemed convince when Sansa assured her her thing with Sandor was casual. As if Sansa didn't know her own feelings better than her! _I know how I feel,_ she mused stubbornly, a frown creasing her brow. But no, that was a lie. She was confused.

 _I am not,_ Sansa admonished herself. _I like Sandor, that's true. He's a good person and has a lot to offer, but he's not for me in the long run. We're just far too different! We're only having fun for the time being and that's it. Eventually we'll part ways._

For some reason Sansa didn't understand, the prospect sent a pang of through her. Exhaling, she chased the feeling away and turned her attention back to what her teacher was saying. If she didn't focus more, she would need to borrow one of her classmates' notes again and Sansa hated doing that. How sloppy did that look?

* * *

Later in the evening while at home after she had finished her homework, Sansa was still troubled by memories of Sandor. It had been hard to concentrate all day. She couldn't stop thinking about him, kept picturing him in her mind's eye. Gods, how tall he was, how very muscular, how strong... He could lift her up in the air with a single arm, as if she weighed nothing at all, and then carry her around with not an ounce of effort. Sansa loved the feeling of being infinitely small and fragile it gave her. And she also liked his voice. It was so raspy, so utterly masculine... _I should call him soon,_ she mused as she undressed.

She got into the shower, sighing in pleasure at the water's contact. It was so hot and soothing. _Like Sandor,_ the thought came unbidden. Oh, by the Seven! why couldn't she just free her mind of him for a moment? It was maddening! While she had studied and worked on her marketing project earlier on, she had opened her phone at least a dozen times to look at the ultimate fighting pictures of him she had saved on it. It was a true distraction! Almost obsessive! But yeah, there was no way around it: she missed him already. She wished she could sleep by his side again tonight and regretted the fact that they would only meet again on tomorrow evening. It was not just about the sex. While it was good - _really_ , _really_ good in fact! - it also felt so... _right_ being with him no matter what they did.

 _No, no, no. It's not true. It is not!_ Sansa rebuked herself as an unwanted notion spouted in her mind.

She went out of the shower and dried herself with a towel, still a bit shaken. Then, she put on her pyjama and headed towards her bedroom. Jeyne was watching a movie in the living room, all bundled up in a pile of blankets.

"Want to join me? The movie only just started," she told her as Sansa passed her by. Behind her, explosions could be heard. She was apparently watching an action movie.

"No, I'm going to sleep. I have to wake up early tomorrow."

"Good night then," Jeyne said, turning her attention back to the television.

 _Oh god, oh gods,_ Sansa thought, panic-stricken as she shut her room's door behind her. There was something building in her. Something that wanted to be out of her, to be free. But did she have the courage to face it? The prospect of it, of everything it would imply and bring about, was so terrifyingly daunting... It would turn her life around to be sure.

 _I've no choice._ She couldn't keep hiding from the truth and ignore her own feelings much longer. In fact, it would be impossible to do so even if she tried.

"Oh by the Seven!" she cried aloud. Raising both her hands to her face, Sansa all but threw herself onto her bed. Then, her breathing growing ragged and chest heaving, she stared up at the ceiling and let out something in-between a laugh and sob.

There was no denying it anymore. She was... totally... utterly, infinitely... _in love with Sandor_! Oh gods, how in love with him she was! Like she had never even imagined she could be. Sansa had never been in love in fact. It was the first time she realised, her belly filling with what felt like thousands and thousands of butterflies.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered, tears pearling in her the corner of her eyes.

Without thinking more of it, she picked up her phone from her night table and called him. After a few seconds, he answered.

"Little bird, I was about to ring you," he said, his voice a rough rumble in her ear.

"You were?" she asked. By the Maiden, how good it was to hear his voice.

"Yes, you promised you would call me. I was getting impatient."

"Why didn't you do it earlier then?"

"I should have, almost did. Still, if I didn't stop myself, I'd be calling you a hundred times a day and how would that look to you?"

"Would you really?" Sansa asked in a murmur.

"I'm not kidding you," Sandor said lowly. "It takes me a lot of self-control not to do so. Don't want you to take me for a bloody psycho."

Sansa laughed softly before letting out a long shuddering breath. "Oh, I miss you Sandor! I wish we could be tomorrow evening already..."

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "Come to my place tonight then. You could sleep here again. Why not?"

Sansa sat up on her bed, her pulse hastening at once. "But it's too late! I was going to sleep just now!"

"That's good with me. We would go to bed from the moment we'd arrive. Though I won't lie, I would screw you before you'd get to sleep of course. Take you long and hard."

Sansa bit at her lip. She would like that also. "But I don't feel like going out. I've taken a shower already and am in my pyjama."

"I could pick you up at your place. I'd come right at your door, you wouldn't have to change."

Sansa hesitated. So far, she had preferred for him not to know where she lived, but now that she had realised that... that she was in love with him... well...

"Come on now, little bird," he rasped with a hint of impatience to his gravelly voice. "You know me well enough by now, don't you? Don't you know I'm not the killer I look?"

Sansa giggled. "Oh, of course I do! You're indeed not as bad as you seem."

He snorted at that.

Exhaling deeply, she smiled to herself, her decision taken. "Yes. Please come, if you don't mind."

Sandor had apparently not expected her answer for there was silence at the other end of the line. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," she replied before giving him her address.

"Pack your things. I'll be there in ten to fifteen minutes at the most. Bear in mind that you're not coming back to your place before Saturday afternoon, if not later. I won't let that happen."

"Is that true?" Sansa whispered, turned on already. She liked it when he spoke to her like that, with a touch of threat to his voice.

"It is. I'll tie you to my bed if you try to leave before that."

Sansa squirmed in place, her heart beating fast. "But what about school, Sandor? You won't stop me from going, won't you?"

"No, that I won't. Still, you need to promise me you'll be heading straight to my apartment as soon as you're done."

"I promise," she breathed, her core aflame.

Sandor paused for a moment, then cleared his voice. "I'm coming now. Can't wait to see you, princess."

 _I'll suck his dick tonight,_ Sansa decided as she packed her things a few minutes later. She really wanted it, loved how big he was even though it made it impossible for her to take him completely in her mouth, but wasn't it part of the appeal? Gods, she could feel herself growing wet just thinking about it. How good it promised to be.

"I'm going to sleep at Sandor's place tonight. He'll be here in just a few minutes," Sansa informed Jeyne as she closed her room's door. She was in her pyjama with her backpack over a shoulder and her handbag in hand.

"At this hour? I thought you were going to bed," she said. There were so many blankets on her, Sansa could barely see her, but she surely looked comfortable.

"I am. Only at Sandor's place."

"You're not leaving like that, are you?" Jeyne demanded, glancing down at her clothes.

Sansa eyed her pyjama and grinned. "I won't be walking! Sandor is going to pick me up with his van. He should be there at any moment now."

"You gave him our address? Didn't you tell me you didn't want him to know where we lived?"

"I did, but I changed my mind. I know him well enough by now."

"Alright then. When are you coming back?"

"On Saturday. I think."

"Okay, call me when you know."

Sansa's phone rang at that instant. It was Sandor and she got to the living room's window in hope to see his van down in the street. It was there indeed. Sandor himself was waiting for her outside of it with his back leaned against its side. He was holding his phone to his ear, his gaze raised on the duplex she lived in, apparently searching for her.

"Princess, I'm here. I'm parked just in front of your place. Want me to come up and help you bring down your stuff?"

"No, I'm fine. I only have two bags. I'm coming now," Sansa assured him, turning around to leave.

Wishing Jeyne goodnight, she went out the door and strode down the stairs.

Sandor smiled when he saw her. "Looking pretty in that pyjama. Are those little dogs?"

"No, they're wolves," she told him. Letting her handbag fall to the ground, she shrugged off her backpack from her shoulder and flew into his arms.

Grunting in approval, Sandor closed his hands around her waist and bent down to kiss her.

"No underwear under that pyjama of yours, hmm?" he rasped lowly after they had parted lips, moulding her butt firmly. "That's not very seemly, Sansa. What would your parents say if they knew you went out in the streets like that? I ought to give you a good lesson when we get to my place."

"Oh, yes," Sansa whispered, her belly fluttering in excitement.

"Get in the van now, it's late," he bade her. Removing his hands from her, he opened the door and nodded toward the passenger seat. "In!" he repeated, slapping her behind.

Sansa squeaked and looked back at him, her eyes wide with stupefaction, yet she did as he asked at once.

"That's a good girl, now," Sandor muttered as he shut the door behind her.

 _Wow, he's such a beast!_ _A true brute!_ Sansa mused, a small smile curving her lips. Twisting into her seat, she followed him with her gaze as he picked up her bags from the ground and got behind the van to store them inside. He sat down by her side afterwards, turning the van's key into the ignition switch even as he possessively stroked her thigh with his other hand. Sansa leaned her head against his powerful shoulder and sighed deeply. Oh, Gods! How very in love with him she was!


	15. Chapter 15

The cafeteria was full and extremely noisy with the din of hundreds of students and teachers chatting and laughing and the clatter of trays being carried about as it was always the case around noon. Sansa was sitting by one of the place's long tables, having lunch with Jeyne. They were eating the same dish, some rice with chicken and vegetables that they had cooked together earlier in the week. Sansa was chewing on her last forkful of it when Margaery and Loras rejoined them and so she only saluted them with a nod of the head. Both siblings were very elegant as always in their immaculate designer clothes. Margaery was wearing black satin pants with a white blouse and her brother, navy trousers with a black turtle neck.

"Hey, how are you both doing?" Loras asked with the same wide, slightly smug smile he almost constantly wore. He and his sister sat down and placed their trays on the table.

"Not too bad," Jeyne answered. She was studying for an upcoming High Valyrian test and had her notebook opened just before her, next to the plastic container with her share of rice inside. Margaery had covered the corner of her notebook with her tray and Jeyne pulled it from under it, shooting her an annoyed glance.

Margaery did not notice in the least and kept on smiling as if nothing had happened. "I just cannot contain myself!" she let out cheerfully. "Can't you wait for the semester to be over as well?"

She and her brother had bought some of that not very tasty stew they sold at the cafeteria, served with instant mashed potatoes, boiled baby carrots and the saltiest gravy Sansa had ever tasted. She had to stop herself from grimacing at the sight. Unhurriedly, they picked at their meal even as they shared their plans for the upcoming holidays with Sansa and Jeyne. It wouldn't be very long indeed! Sevenmas was in just a month and the semester, it would end in less than three weeks! Both sibling would fly to their parents' estate on the very same day college ended and celebrate grandly with their family and friends.

"But the best part of the whole three weeks we'll spend home is going to be the party we'll throw for the New Year's Eve. Both of you should come! It's going to be _a-ma-zing_!" Margaery promised, her eyes sparking in excitement.

Sansa shook her head apologetically. "I'd love to, but it's not going to be possible. I'll be spending the holidays with my own family in the North."

"Same," Jeyne said, peeking up at Margaery from her notebook.

"That's too bad," the latter replied, though she didn't seem to mind all that much. Without insisting further, she resumed sharing her plans with the same enthusiasm as before. She took her long time enumerating the extended list of people she would invite to the party and described in detail the designer gown and heels she would wear. As for himself, Loras seemed more interested in the famous DJ he hoped to hire and all the different drinks and dishes they would be offering their guests. They would hire a renowned interior designer and the large pool house in which the party would take place would just as stylish as the fanciest clubs in town!

Sansa tried hard to listen and be interested, yet as they talked, her thoughts kept going back to Sandor. What would he be doing on Sevenmas Eve? _Probably nothing special, seeing that he has no family to speak of,_ she concluded with a pang. Somehow, it made her feel guilty, as if it was her fault that unlike her, he hadn't been blessed with a large and loving family. While she would be having fun with them, he'd be alone in his apartment, most likely. In her mind's eyes, she conjured up the sad picture he would make. She could almost see him, drinking beer and eating a TV dinner as he gloomily watched a Sevenmas movie on television and heard the din of people celebrating in the streets... Gods, tears were threatening to well in her eyes, yet Sansa couldn't very well allow herself to weep just now that she sat in the cafeteria with her friends! Besides, Margaery and Loras had every right to be excited - that New Year's Eve party they would throw did sound amazing! - and it was rude of her not to share their joy. No, she had best chase her melancholy away and think of something else without further ado!

"You guys are still hungry?" Sansa asked, forcing a smile on her lips. Opening her backpack, she produced out of it the large plastic container she had brought with her to school today. "I have chocolate cake to share, if you want some," she said, placing the container at the centre of the table and removing its lid.

"Oh, I was impatient for you to offer us some!" Jeyne cried out, her eyes gleaming. Then, addressing the others she added: "She's been baking a cake every other day since last Sunday. I'm afraid I'll soon grow fat, but I can't help myself! I just love cake _so_ much!"

"What's the occasion?" Loras asked, eyeing the chocolate cake Sansa had set on the table with interest. It was cut in small bite-size pieces and was decorated with chocolate icing and candy sprinkles.

For a short instant, Sansa hesitated. She still wasn't used to speaking openly of Sandor. She had tried to keep their relationship secret until very recently and the fact that Loras and Margaery knew him made it even more awkward. Yet seeing that the latter already knew about it and had most likely told her brother all about their chance encounter in their apartment building's staircase, there really would be no sense in not being truthful with them.

"It's going to be Sandor's nameday on next Monday," Sansa started softly, feeling herself blush. It was so strange to talk of him to someone else than Jeyne.

A wicked grin spread on Margaery's lips at that, but Sansa continued speaking anyway, adamant about not letting her amusement intimidate her.

"I've decided to bake him a nameday cake and am trying out different recipes beforehand just to be sure I choose the right one. I'm still not certain I found it though. This one's good, but it's too sweet."

"Mmm, it is very good indeed," Loras said as he took a bite from his piece of cake. "But it you want to find a recipe that represents the man right, I agree this one's too sweet. You need one with some degree of bitterness."

Margaery snorted. "Indeed. Make it dark chocolate," she prompted, speaking with her mouth full.

"That's what I have gathered already," Sansa agreed shyly. "I'll even add a bit of spice to it. Not too much though. It's still desert after all."

"Well you're really spoiling him, aren't you?" Loras remarked, a smirk on his handsome face. "How old is he going to be again? Thirty-four?"

"Mmm hmm." Gods, why were Sansa's cheeks burning like this?

"He's a bit old for you isn't he? Though I'm not judging of course. I'll leave that to my lovely sister." Giving Margaery a sideways glance, he shoved a whole piece of cake in his mouth.

"Oh! I am _not_ judgemental!" she snapped in affront, smacking him on the shoulder. "And besides, you know very well I have nothing against older men! So long as they are loaded and eager to be generous with me!"

Everyone burst out laughing at that, which seemed to please Margaery. As for Loras, he nearly choked on his mouthful of cake. He fumbled through his satchel in search of his water bottle before taking a long swallow from it.

"Sansa, Jeyne: you see how she is that sister of mine?" he said when he had recovered. He shook his head and tsked in disapproval, but the grin and look of complicity he gave her said otherwise.

"The good thing out of all of this," Loras continued with his mouth full after having stuffed yet another piece of cake in it, "is that our upstairs neighbour now owes us and who wouldn't want an indebted neighbour? We'll definitely make use of that, just wait and see. There's no way he'd have ever met you if we hadn't invited him to our Strangerween party and we'd certainly never have thought to set you up with him." From the little haughty laugh he let out, it was clear he found the notion very humorous.

Margaery's eyes grew wide. She was apparently sharing his mirth. "Indeed! Talk about a beauty and the beast match! Oh, Sansa! He's the last guy I'd have ever envisioned you dating! Seeing you together is going to be so strange!"

Sansa lowered her gaze in embarrassment, but she didn't contradict her. She'd known all along that going public with her relationship with Sandor would mean receiving comments along those lines. This was just the beginning of it fact and she had best get used to it.

"So? Are you planning on seeing him on Friday again? It's been so long since we've last went out together! You and Jeyne should come to the White Tower with me and my cousins! A girls' night out is well overdue!"

"I'll come. But Sansa, you can be sure she'll be seeing _him_ again!" Jeyne answered before Sansa had time to even think of a reply. "She's been spending more time at his place than at our own apartment these past two weeks!" Sending Sansa a reproachful look, she took the last piece of cake, leaving the plastic container empty apart from a few dark brown crumbs at its bottom. Sansa had not even eaten a piece, but it was perhaps better like this seeing that she had had some for breakfast all week. She would make another batch tonight anyway.

"I have not spent more time at his place than at ours, Jeyne! You're exaggerating!" Sansa countered, though neither Jeyne nor Margaery seemed to hear.

"Oh, well, that sound serious, doesn't it?" Margaery said. She was inspecting her long taupe nails with an air of boredom about her. "More than you let on last week when I caught you fleeing from his apartment like a thief! Is he your boyfriend now?" With that, she glanced at Sansa, her brow furrowed derisively.

Sansa bit at her lip, feeling very nervous and unsure of herself suddenly. Yet, she would not back down and resort to half-truths as she had previously. She was done with this, had resolved to be open from now on. Sansa was ecstatic to be in love - it was so very wonderful and made her feel alive like she had never before! Hiding her feelings would go against her every instinct! It would not allow them to grow as freely as they should and Sansa wanted them to flourish, for they brought her so much joy!

"I don't know..." she started honestly. Wringing her hands under the table, she stared at the empty plastic container before her. "We didn't talk about it, so there's nothing official between us, but... _I am... in love with him_." A small, unbidden smile crept to her lips. Just thinking of her recent revelation was waking butterflies in her belly. Her whole body aflame and heart beating fast, Sansa gathered her courage and raised her gaze to see that Margaery was staring back at her with rounded eyes, her mouth agape.

"What?!" she let out, shock written all over her pretty face.

By her side, her brother had to stifle a laugh. Sansa wasn't sure whether he was more amused by his sister's reaction or her infatuation with his hulking upstairs neighbour. As for Jeyne, there was no real surprise in her gaze. She knew her well enough to have guessed this was coming.

"That's not what you've told me last week!" Margaery exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at her.

"I know, but I had not realised it yet either. It took me some time to admit it to myself."

Margaery sniggered. "Yeah, I bet! I sure would have had a hard time coming to terms with it too! My poor sweetheart, you need be more careful! That's what happens when you sleep too often with the same guy. A woman's heart is so soft... Stop seeing him for a week or two and you'll think clear again, you'll see."

Sansa frowned, both irked and wounded by her words. Margaery had plenty of qualities - she could be generous and was incontestably a very fun friend to hang out with - however, she could also be awfully insensitive sometimes. Sansa didn't care much for that side of her. "I don't mind being in love with him. How would that even make sense? I certainly don't want it to stop."

Picking up the plastic container from the table, Sansa put it back into her backpack and stood from her place. "I need to go now." She forced a smile on her lips, realising how abrupt she was being. She was mad, that was true, but she didn't want to make a fuss out of this either.

"See you all later!" she said, waving at her friends.

With that, she headed towards the library, relieved in spite of Margaery's disobliging remarks to have come clean about her feelings to her closest King Landing's friends. It was a start.

* * *

Later in the evening on that same day, Sansa was trying out another cake recipe when her phone rang. She picked it up, smiling to herself when she saw Sandor's number on the screen.

"Hi, Sandor! How are you?" she asked him happily.

"Not too bad, little bird," he rasped, his voice low and husky. "What are you doing?"

"Studying. I've an exam tomorrow, remember?" Sansa told him even as she kept adding flour to her cake mix. A small flour cloud rose above her bowl and for a moment, she feared she would sneeze. Thankfully, she managed to stifle it just in time.

"I've not forgotten. I was just hoping you'd perhaps be done by now, or just about."

"I'm not. I've only just started in fact," Sansa lied, feeling herself blush. The fact that she would have an exam tomorrow morning was true enough at least, though she would only start studying once the cake was baked.

"Still sure you don't want me to pick you up later tonight?" Sandor demanded. He had already proposed as much to her earlier in the afternoon and it pained her to have to repeat the same answer again.

"I'd love to, but it's really better not. We'll see each other tomorrow evening anyway. I want to be well rested for my exam. It's going to count for forty percent of my final grade and I know you wouldn't let me sleep as much as I need to!"

There was a dry sound at the other end of the line. Something in-between a laugh and a snort. "Well, I guess I can't deny that. But which man would want to sleep right away when he has such a stunning woman as you in his bed? Certainly not this one."

Sansa grinned, her cheeks reddening with delight. She loved how much he complimented her all the time. Harry had not been half as effusive in that sense.

"I'll leave you to your homework now, princess. You can call me later, before you go to sleep, if you want."

"I'll do it, of course," Sansa breathed.

They both hung up and Sansa poured her cake mix into a tin and put it in the oven. As it baked, she sat at the kitchen table and began reading her politics notes. Unsurprisingly, she was distracted, as was getting her custom these days. She didn't like the feeling having lied to Sandor woke in her. Yet there was no denying that she had done so with the best intentions. Tonight was pretty much the last occasion she would get to try to find the perfect cake recipe for him before his nameday. It would be on Monday after all and they would spend most of the weekend together. And she truly had an extremely important exam tomorrow morning. That didn't leave her a lot of time to study, hence her decision not to go to his place tonight.

All that trouble would be worth it though! Sansa had planned out everything already and she was exceedingly excited about it - albeit a bit nervous as well! Sandor would not be expecting any of it; she was not supposed to come to his apartment on Monday night. Sansa had subtlety questioned him about this schedule and she'd been thrilled to see everything would work out perfectly. From what he'd told her, he would leave for the gym after diner and come back home around 8PM. This would give Sansa ample time to head to his place and prepare everything. On the previous weekend, Sandor had given her a duplicate set of his keys, thus she now could enter his apartment on her own. He'd told her she was welcome at any time, even when he wasn't home. She could come between two courses and do her homework there if she wanted, he'd assured her. He lived nearer to her school after all and it would be more quiet there than going to the library where there were always people chatting and laughing in spite of the silence directive.

Once the cake was ready, Sansa let it cool down on a rack for a few minutes and then tried it out with Jeyne.

"That's the one! It's really good. I'm sure he'll like it!" Sansa announced, pleased that all her attempts had at long last bore fruit.

Jeyne agreed and took a second piece of it. The frosting would be the same Sansa had made for her mother's nameday cake, so she felt confident all would be perfect.

Afterwards, she took a shower, put on her pyjama and then headed to her bedroom where she installed herself over her bed and resumed studying. After about an hour of that, Sansa needed a little break and she grasped her phone from her night table. Lying on her stomach with her upper body propped on her elbows and calves upward, she looked at the ultimate fighting pictures of Sandor she had saved on her phone, letting out a few dreamy sighs as she took in his impressive physique. Then just as she was about to return to her notes, it dawned on her that while she had searched the net for pictures of 'the Hound' many times, she had never done it with his real name. Curious, she wrote 'Sandor Clegane' in her phone's search engine and pressed enter.

Sansa scrolled down the page which appeared, but there was apparently nothing about him. He had always used his Hound moniker when he fought from what he'd told her so this was not really surprising. Still, before Sansa closed the page, her eyes were caught by a link to an article from the News of Westeros.

 _After a long and eventful trial and nearly a hundred witnesses questioned, Gregor Clegane, hitman for the Westerlands' mob, is sentenced to a life sentence without parole._

Her heart skipping a beat, Sansa froze completely for a few seconds. Then hesitantly, as if in fear of what she might learn, she opened the link and began reading the article.

If it was to be believed, Gregor Clegane was our century's most prolific hitman. Sansa's father had often called the News of Westeros a rag and warned her not to believe half of what it reported. While she did secretly enjoy reading it when she had breakfast at diners, Sansa had to agree with him that it was not very edifying most of the time. Still, given that the article summed up the main events of what had apparently been a very public trial, Sansa gathered she could trust most of what was written.

Her eyes wide and heart beating fast, she kept on reading. The man's pedigree was bloodcurdling. He had murdered many dozens of people before the police's Special Forces had finally managed to arrest him after a very lengthy investigation and manhunt. His propensity to not only execute but slaughter those he was tasked to eliminate had earned him to be known as 'the Westerlander butcher'.

While most of his victims had been linked to criminal organisations, there had also been a few sad exceptions. The article related how nearly ten years ago, he had poured gasoline all over a bar's floor, barricaded the place from outside and set it aflame in order to murder a group of four criminals who were having a few drinks inside. That there were six other patrons as well as a bartender besides them in the bar – all of them people by all accounts leading honest lives – didn't stop him from carrying out his evil deed. There was no survivor on that horrendous night.

Another horror story mentioned in the article was that of two children unlucky enough to walk by a car Gregor Clegane had filled with explosives as they headed home from school. The drug dealer who owned the car – a man well known to law enforcement – was projected in the air as he opened the vehicle's door and died even before he hit the ground. One of the two young children, a boy of nine, had no vital signs whatsoever when the paramedics arrived at the scene and was declared dead even before they placed him on a stretcher. As for his sister, a little girl of six, she survived a whole week before she finally succumbed to her injuries in her hospital bed after many operations and false hopes. Her poor mother committed suicide a year after the events.

 _Oh my gods! This is so atrocious!_ Sansa thought, tears pearling in her eyes. A sick, uneasy feeling was brewing in the pit of her stomach, yet she kept on reading, somehow unable to stop.

There had also been three of Gregor Clegane's girlfriends who had died in suspicious circumstances, one of which's body had been found dismembered and stuffed in a suitcase. The suitcase in question had been dumped in a junkyard and the woman's remains where so very heavily decomposed when they found her that it took many months before she was positively identified.

 _At almost eight feet tall and as muscled as a bodybuilder, the man is a scary sight to behold. One can only rejoice that he'll be behind bars until the day he dies,_ the article recounted, in that not very journalistic style the News of Westeros was known for.

Sansa looked at the picture of the man which followed the text, her hands shaking around her phone. Could this be... Sandor's brother? _Oh no, it cannot be possible!_ Many peopled shared their last name in spite of not being related – or at least, not being as far as they knew. And yet Sansa was putting the pieces together and they all fitted so well!

Sandor had told her he had a brother, but that he had cut all ties with him, that he was no family to him. And there had been that spark of hatred shining in his eyes on the rare occasions he mentioned him. But worse of all, the man on the picture... he did look a little like Sandor, though Sansa hated having to admit it to herself. First there was his unusual height and build. Just that would've been enough to raise her suspicion already considering how unusually tall and broad both Sandor and that hitman were... yet that killer... he also had black hair and a hooked nose...

Oh gods... What if she was right, was if... The very thought made her dizzy, same as if she was about to be sick and her throat hurt as it always did just before she started crying.

Sansa wasn't sure what to make of all of this. She was so confused, in total shock... The only certainty she had was that she needed to know the truth, no matter how daunting it might seem. Yet, how did one ask someone they cared about if their brother was a prolific and merciless murderer? Sansa wasn't sure, but she would have to find out.


	16. Chapter 16

On the following Friday, Sansa and Sandor met around dinner time as they had for the previous three weeks. They returned to the first pub they had visited together, the Old Dungeon it was called. Sansa had really liked the place as well as the food and she proposed herself to Sandor that they go again tonight. Her demand seemed to please him, for he had agreed without a second of hesitation.

Once they were done eating, they went to see a very strange artsy Pentoshi movie at the cinema which had received excellent critics for its dept and originality. They both really enjoyed it, it was the sort of movie which inhabited its viewers for a long time after having seen it. Sansa would probably need to watch it again later in order to grasp all of its subtleties. While it was excellent, she failed to understand the meaning of some of its scenes and didn't always follow the plot so well. The story it told was very twisted indeed and it didn't help that it was in High Valyrian with subtitles in the Common Tongue. However to be entirely honest, these were only excuses. In truth, she had not been as attentive as she ought to.

Sansa had been distracted all day - or more precisely, ever since yesterday night when she read that article about Gregor Clegane's life sentence and trial. As she chatted with Sandor earlier at the restaurant, the memory of it was always in the back of her mind, though she fought to chase it away, and things got even worse as they sat in the movie theatre later on.

 _Could that hitman be Sandor's brother?_ she would wonder at the most random moments. Still, Sansa didn't have the courage to speak the question aloud. How did one bring up such a subject? If she was mistaken and that Sandor had nothing to do with that killer after all, then he'd have every reason to be offended and Sansa wanted nothing less than to make him mad at her for no good reason! If they were indeed related... well, she wasn't sure how he would react, but it would be worth finding out at least.

Truth be told, Sansa was almost certain she was right about this. There were simply too many details about this whole story that pointed in that direction. She would confront Sandor about this, yes she would, but first she needed to be absolutely certain this was not just her imagination playing tricks on her. Otherwise, she could really be putting her foot in her mouth, like she never had before! No, Sansa would have to find out the truth of it on her own first and foremost in order to avoid that!

During her pause today at school and even just before her date, Sansa had obsessively browsed the net for more information about Gregor Clegane's trial. While she learned additional details about the atrocious crimes the hitman had committed, she found nothing which confirmed her suspicions for good. The last line of an article from the News of Westeros caught her attention though. It referred to a witness that would testify on the following day: _Gregor Clegane's younger brother._

Sansa's eyes had grown wide at reading the words, yet though she searched and searched, she never found any report of the brother's testimony nor saw it referred to anywhere else. The trial had taken place about six years ago and the News of Westeros, the newspaper which had apparently followed the case most closely, had erased some of its older articles from its site, the one about Gregor Clegane's brother's appearance in court being one of those. Sansa had let out a groan of dismay when she realised it.

"Little bird? What do you think?" Sandor rough's voice brought Sansa back to reality. They were walking from the cinema to his apartment and the street before them was empty and dim despite the street lamps.

"About what? Sorry, I did not follow," Sansa admitted sheepishly. She felt terrible for not having listened, again.

Sandor grunted and averted his gaze from her, the burned corner of his mouth twitching. "Those bloody exams are really stressing you out, aren't they? You've been distracted all evening," he rasped lowly.

"I know... I'm really sorry, Sandor!" Sansa said, her brow knitted. Circling both her hands around his thick arm, she hugged it and leaned onto him even as they kept walking.

That seemed to mellow him, for he sighed and raised his free hand to stroke her hair. "I was asking you what you thought that Pentoshi man's true motives were to leave everything behind and change life. Not sure he told the truth."

"I'm really not sure either," Sansa answered honestly.

They both agreed to watch the movie again once it became available on hotflix and kept on exchanging about it as they strolled to his place. As they did, Sansa promised herself to be more attentive to the present moment.

Sadly, some things were easier said than done. Later on as they had sex, she still had a hard time focussing, which was a first with Sandor. Although Sansa did her best to keep them at bay, excerpts from the reports she had read sporadically came back to her. The girlfriends Gregor had killed and beaten, the children which had died because of him, all the men and women he had murdered: everything was getting mixed up in her mind. And Sandor, he did look a little like him... what if... _Oh, by the Seven! Stop it, Sansa! Sandor is nothing like that!_ _A man is not to blame for his brother's crimes. Besides, Sandor has no love for his brother. He despises him,_ she reminded herself, ashamed that the thought had so much as crossed her mind.

"Am I hurting you?" Sandor asked suddenly, halting in his movement in her. He had been thrusting himself between her thighs, in the missionary position, and had apparently sensed something was wrong with her.

Once more, Sansa cursed herself for being so preoccupied and most of all, to allow it show while they were doing _it_. She met his gaze and the look of concern in his eyes increased her feeling of guilt even more. Sandor may be a little rough sometimes, but he would never – ever! - willingly hurt her! Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck and kissed him.

While he resumed taking her, Sansa could tell by the way he gazed at her later on as they both caught their breath, lying side by side over the mattress, that he knew something was amiss with her. In a will to make amend for her behaviour, she snaked her arms around his large torso and held on to him as affectionately as she could. He gently caressed her back as they slowly drifted away and Sansa gathered all was okay.

* * *

On the next morning, Sansa was the first to awake. Sandor was snoring softly by her side, sleeping on his back. Sliding her hands over his chest, she rolled onto her stomach over him and began kissing his cheeks and lips. After a few seconds, his eyes opened in slits. Sansa felt his hardness against her and smiled at him. Pleased, she crawled under the covers, put his dick in her mouth and began sucking it hungrily. She did it until she sensed he could no longer take it and then, straddled him long and hard like she knew he loved. Sansa was eager to make him forget her distance of yesterday and it seemed to work, judging by the great mood he was in afterwards. He cracked her one of those wicked grin of his as he headed to the bathroom to take a shower, winking at her in that smug way he did sometimes.

"Leave me hot water!" Sansa bade him, grinning back at him.

"'Course, princess. I'll leave you enough so that you can take your customary twenty minutes shower as I cook breakfast for you," he mocked her.

Sansa frowned at him. It was true she took long showers, but never so much as twenty minutes! Perhaps more around fifteen.

Sandor sniggered and turned his back to her.

Her pulse hastening, Sansa watched with wide eyes as he closed the bathroom door behind himself. _Now's a good time,_ she thought, biting at her lips nervously. She waited until she heard the shower running and jumped out of bed.

Not losing an instant, Sansa put on the first tee shirt she saw – the one with the _Hound Electrical Services_ logo that Sandor often wore to work. It was so very large on her, it fell down nearly to her mid thighs. Then, she ran to the large chest of drawers not far from the window and began opening the drawers. She hated doing it – it wasn't like her to rummage through other people's things in their back like that. However, Sansa had been thinking about this since yesterday night and she genuinely felt as if she had no other choice.

She was hoping to chance upon some clues or even better, evidences, that Sandor was that Gregor Clegane's brother. Perhaps she would put her hands on documents relating to his court testimony - that was what she had more hope for. If she succeeded and learned that he was indeed his brother, she wouldn't tell him she had searched through his things of course, he would probably be angry at her if he knew what she was doing just now. No, she would simply tell him that she had read an article about a hitman who had the same last name as him and pretend like she was curious about it.

There was nothing interesting in his bedroom. The chest of drawer only contained clothes, as one might expect. Sansa didn't even look in his closet, she could guess it would be no better and didn't have time to lose. In a hurry, she headed to his office and opened the filing cabinet. There were many documents inside, all classified by categories, but from what she could see at first glance, all were either bills or pertained to his job.

Frustrated, but most of all very nervous, for she knew Sandor's shower would soon be over, Sansa ran to the living room and opened one of the drawers just under the bookcase. She dropped to her knees to better look inside and got excited when she saw there were papers in there as well, until she realised they were all relating to the electrical program he had studied in. Without missing a beat, she opened another drawer and – _oh, my gods!_

Sansa froze in place, her face growing bright red in a split second. Were those naked women? Oh yes, those were indeed! _Oh, by the Maiden! Seems like I've just found his porn stash!_ Sansa realised, feeling utterly embarrassed. Yet, against her better judgment, she didn't close the drawer right away and kept looking. There were a dozen DVDs in there and some old looking magazines as well. This ought to be reassuring really: there was nothing too weird or kinky, still Sansa felt absurdly jealous at the sight of those other women on the DVD and magazine covers. There was no sense in that of course. Sandor was a grown man and as far as she knew, most men watched porn from time to time, especially if they were single, and Sandor had been most of his life from what he'd told her.

 _Good girls gone bad,_ was the title of one of the DVD. Sansa was reading the description on its back when she heard a noise coming from the bathroom. Gods! The shower had stopped running and she had not even noticed it! Her heart in her throat, she hurriedly put back the porn DVD into the drawer and closed it. She only just had time to stand up and randomly pull a book from a shelf before Sandor opened the bathroom door. It was a cookbook, she realised. As Sandor walked in her direction, Sansa pretended to be super interested in the steak marinade recipe she had opened it to.

"'Look good in that shirt," Sandor commented, gazing at her with unhidden lust. "You should come to work with me dressed like that one of these days. Be my little helper."

Sansa's cheeks were burning hot and Sandor narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously when he noticed it. His grey bathrobe was very loosely closed around him and opened over his hairy chest and his long hair falling in wet locks around his face.

"Have you ever tried some of those BBQ recipes?" Sansa asked, keeping her stare glued to the cookbook she held.

Sandor got by her side very near her and glanced at it over her shoulder. "Yeah," he said slowly. From his tone, Sansa could tell he was perplexed by her attitude, but a bit amused as well. "You'd like me to cook my favourite for you, on Wednesday perhaps?"

"Huh huh, that would be great!" Sansa answered with a bit too much enthusiasm, forcing a wide smile to her lips. "I'll prepare the salad and you'll choose the meat and recipe." With that, she gave him the book, kissed him on the cheek and strode to the bathroom, her heart hammering in her chest.

 _Oh gods, that was close!_ Sansa mused as she shut the door behind herself and put her back against it. Although she was still feeling edgy, and a bit jealous as well for having stumbled upon Sandor's porn, she was mostly disappointed not to have found what she had been looking for. It was all so very frustrating!

Sansa sighed deeply many times as she took her shower, until an idea came to her at last _. I'll go to the library!_ she reflected, her eyes growing wide at once. How had she not thought about this before?

The library received every newspaper available in Westeros and kept them for a week in paper form so that people could come and read them for free. Afterwards, librarians would scan them all, page by page, so that they remain available for consultation on that large computer at the rear of the library. There was also another obsolete looking computer by its side with which older newspapers could be read through microfilms. Sansa had used both of them for a school project at the beginning of the semester. The article about Gregor Clegane's brother appearance in court was sure to be available. Even rags like the News of Westeros got scanned. Oh! That was promising! _Tomorrow! I'll go tomorrow first thing in the morning,_ she decided.

* * *

And so on Sunday morning after having eaten her breakfast of chocolate cake, fruits and coffee, Sansa put on a pair of jeans and her Baelor College hoodie and left her apartment for the library. She was anxious, the prospect of learning the truth was quite daunting. What if her suspicions were correct? How would she deal with this? Just the thought of it brought tears to her eyes. _Stop it Sansa. Perhaps you're mistaken about all of this. All things in due time._

The librarian smiled at her as she saw her enter. Sansa was a regular: she often came here on Sundays to study and rent the period novels she loved so much. The computer with the more recent newspaper scans was available and so Sansa took place in the swivel chair before it right away. By her side, a young man was zooming on the text of an old microfilm on the other consultation computer and an aging man was reading a newspaper a little further, installed into a cushioned armchair. Sansa removed her coat, hung it after the back of her chair and took a deep breath. Her hands were clammy on the mouse as she selected the newspaper consultation program.

Sansa knew exactly which date she needed to ask for. She typed 'the News of Westeros' in the search engine, then chose the year, the month and finally the day. The newspaper appeared on the screen. She skimmed through it until she found the article she had been both longing and dreading to read ever since she had heard about its existence yesterday.

 _An update on the Clegane Trial: the hitman's younger brother testifies_ , was its title. Her hands shaking and pulse hastening, Sansa began reading. There was a short paragraph, written in italic, at the beginning of the text:

 _To our readers, please note that as he was still a minor at the time the events mentioned at yesterday's hearing happened, the name of the defendant's brother cannot legally be revealed in this article. We will refer to him as Steve for ease of comprehension,_ Sansa read in dismay.

Oh, by the Seven Heavens! Would she ever learn the truth? While she did understand how important it was that such laws existed to protect children and people who had still been minor at the time a crime had been committed, this was nevertheless unbelievingly frustrating! Sighing in despair, Sansa resumed reading the text anyway.

The article began by giving its readers a short description of Gregor Clegane's brother. He was twenty seven at the time it was written a little less than six years ago. It did seem to work with Sandor... The journalist even commented on how very impressive physically he was, almost as tall and muscular as his brother! Once more, it all made sense, but it was not the clear answer Sansa had been wishing for.

Gregor Clegane's brother was younger than him of five years and a half. According to the News of Westeros, their family was not a happy one. Their mother died in a car accident when Steve was just six years old. She was with the brothers' younger sister when it happened, a girl of only four who didn't make it either. From then on, the Cleganes' father, a man who had never been very involved with his children to begin with, fell heavily into drinking. Often, he left home to get drunk and didn't return for days.

Steve was terrified of his older brother as a child. Gregor would often beat him up and barely bothered to hide it from their father - when he was home, that was. When Steve was twelve and his brother eighteen, their father committed suicide. The man killed himself with a bullet in the head. Steve admitted to the jury and judge that he had always been convinced his death had been Gregor's doing - his first murder. He told the police as much at the time, however his father was a well known drunkard and not really liked in town and no one listened to him. Steve was interrupted by the defendant's attorney as he began sharing what had brought him suspect his brother. The jury should base their verdict on facts, not mere suspicions, he had stated. The judge agreed, thus the subject was closed.

 _Gods, so that Steve became an orphan at twelve, just like Sandor,_ Sansa reflected, her head turning slightly. Everything was fitting so perfectly. And yet in spite of it, there was still that tiny bit of doubt in her, or perhaps more precisely, of hope that it was not him, that all of these similarities were only very unusual coincidences. This whole story was too big of a deal and too awful to be about someone she knew and cared for. Sansa couldn't bring herself to believe so.

As she read the following paragraph though, everything brutally changed. She felt herself grow ashen, but she kept on going, somehow unable to stop.

 _The most horrifying moment of Steve's testimony of yesterday came at the very end of it. In that detached tone he used all through his time in court, the young man told the jury the story of how his brother stuffed his face in the burning embers of their fireplace when he was just a boy of seven. In order to protect Gregor, his father made up some lie about his bed catching fire and surprisingly, it appears that no one ever questioned it. Steve had to spend many weeks at the hospital afterwards and still wears very apparent scars on his face even nowadays._

There were still a few sentences left to the article, yet Sansa barely grasped their meaning. Her heart stopped beating for a second or two – or at least, it felt like it – and she stared blindly at the screen, her eyes filling with tears. While she fought to keep them in place, one soon rolled down her cheek. There was no mistaking the identity of that hitman's younger brother anymore. It was Sandor indeed. There had been too many details pointing in that direction already, but this about his burned face... well it was the proof Sansa had been waiting for.

Oh by the Mother, so that was how he had gotten his scars? She had never dared ask him... Incapable of controlling herself anymore, Sansa lowered her face in her hands and started weeping in the library.


	17. Chapter 17

_This one was such a struggle to write! Took me forever! I do hope you all enjoy it, and please! Share your impressions with me if you like this story! :)_

* * *

With a grunt, Sandor fixed the barbell he had been lifting into the rack behind him. Once it was safely in place, he sighed and allowed himself to grow limp on the inclined bench under him. He stayed on his back for a few seconds, waiting with his eyes shut for his pulse to slow down and respiration to steady. _Enough,_ he thought eventually, opening his eyes again. He was done for today. It wasn't late, but it was Monday and he was tired. Wiping his sweaty face with a towel, he stood from the bench and stretched.

"Going already, Sandor?" Boros asked him. The man had a dumbbell in each hand and stood before a mirror at the other end of the room, slowly lifting each in turn.

"Yeah," Sandor grumbled.

"Sure you don't want to stay a bit longer? Me and Meryn are going to have a beer at the pub once we're done."

Sandor snorted. "A beer? More like a whole fucking barrel between the two of you. I'm working tomorrow and need to wake up at dawn. No beer for me."

"Well, how serious you've grown now, Sandor," Meryn said. He was sitting on a flat bench by Boros' side and had a tall sport water bottle in hand and a mocking, superior expression on his face. "You'd never have refused a beer when you were still working with us. Back in those days, you'd have drunk almost anyone under the table and you never turned your back on a good brawl either once you were drunk." He sniggered, an ugly sneer twisting his face. "I do miss it: you made quite a show when you were pissed – in both senses of the word. I was always looking forward to some bastard provoking you."

Sandor grunted. He remembered it all well enough, but as for himself, he didn't miss any of it. Boros and Meryn weren't friends of his. Only, he used to work with them at the White Tower and other clubs. They'd also been training at the same gym for years now so they'd gotten to know each other by force of circumstance. And since Sandor had once not been very picky about whom he'd got wasted with, he did spend plenty of nights at bars with them - as well as a whole lot of other people he'd never recognise if he were ever to meet on the street.

"I could still drink either of you under the table as easily as I take a piss, I've just grown wiser, that's all. I'm not going to get smashed on a bloody Monday night when I still have at least forty hours of work left before Friday is over." Throwing his towel over his shoulder, Sandor headed to the locker-room, all the while hearing Meryn yell what was most likely a disobliging remark, though he didn't care to listen.

There was indeed a time where Sandor hadn't cared which day of the week it was, yet drinking on a Monday night was out of the question now that he had a real career, one he gave a shit about. As an electrician, making a mistake could put his life as well as that of other workers in danger, so Sandor needed to be at his best every fucking day of the week.

 _It's my nameday though,_ he remembered. Thirty-four. He was not getting any younger. Perhaps he should open himself a beer when he got home after all to mark the day, though there wasn't much to celebrate really. Just one beer - or perhaps two or three, but no more than that. At his size, he could drink a whole six pack all on his own and barely be tipsy so three beers was nothing, really. Yes, he would do just that, he decided as he took a quick shower. And he would call Sansa and tell her about his nameday. Hopefully she wouldn't freak out too much. He was much older than her. _At this point, one year more or less, what the fuck will it change?_ he mused, but then, he felt his mouth twitch and as quickly as that, that dark cloud which had been following him all day was back. There was no way around it, Sandor was preoccupied.

Sansa had acted strange all through the week-end, been unusually distant. A part of him feared that it might mean that she was growing tired of him already. Yet, the little bird had told him she was stressed out because of all the exams and projects she had to prepare for with the end of the semester coming so soon. It was a likely enough explanation and Sandor could only hope she wasn't lying. Things had been going so well up until then; lately she'd literally been jumping in his arms whenever they met and was always so happy and bubbly whenever he rang her.

On the previous week-end, while she'd smiled and laughed at all the japes he made, her eyes had remained sad most of the time and when he'd called her yesterday, there had been a heaviness to her voice. And yet she'd told him she couldn't wait to be with him again and on that previous week-end, she had been even more affectionate than usual. She'd even waken him up with a nice blowjob and fucked him like her life depended on it. She was probably telling the truth and just edgy and tired because of the increase in her workload the end of the semester implied. Still, Sandor couldn't help but worry.

Trying to convince himself it was it, Sandor stepped out of the shower, dried himself with a towel and got dressed. He covered his wet hair with a beanie, put his leather jacket on and exited the gym.

His sport bag hung after his shoulder and hands in his jacket's pockets, Sandor unhurriedly walked back home through the dim streets. In spite of himself, he remained preoccupied. He kept thinking back on everything that had happened between him and Sansa, trying to find that one moment where things had started going awry. He must have done something wrong... Yet eventually, he would shake himself, remind himself nothing had happened, that it was just school that was getting to her. But it was no good and inevitably, just instants after, he would begin doubting all over again and the whole process would repeat itself...

Deep in brooding, Sandor was nearing his apartment building when his gaze got caught by a faint glow of light shining through his window. That was queer. He had not let any light on, he never did when he left home. His stare on the window, he glimpsed something like a shadow pass on the wall, though the movement was so brief, he might as well have imagined it.

Frowning, Sandor accelerated, his whole body tensing. He wasn't sure what to expect at all, still he was ready for anything. The most likely was, there was a thief at his place. If that was the case, well the bugger would regret having chosen him for target. No doubt he was unaware of whose apartment this was. No sane man would ever try his chance against _the Hound_. It was looking for trouble, stealing from an ex MMA champion like him, one who'd won many competitions, including Dragonstone's grand prize in which all the greatest had participated a few years ago. He had fought his last few matches there and it had been well worth the trouble seeing the nice sum of cash that had come with the trophy. He'd definitely proven his worth as a fighter while he was there and as Sandor had not lost any of his stamina since then, he would gladly prove it again tonight.

With all of his repressed frustration and worries of the past few days, he was almost looking forward to a good confrontation. A part of him hoped there'd indeed be a thief at his place when he arrived. Yes, he would make nice work of the bastard, and the beauty of it would be that he'd be perfectly in his right, seeing that no one but himself had any business at his place. He wouldn't kill him of course – he wasn't Gregor after all - yet he would make the whoreson remember this day till the day he died. He'd think twice before he'd break in some stranger's home again, yes he would.

Sandor went up the stairs swiftly but silently, careful not to warn any potential thief of his presence. His door had not been forced, he saw when he reached the landing. The bugger had probably come from the parking lot and then entered through the back door, which was what thieves usually did anyway. Sandor could hear sounds coming from inside, and the awareness made him smile that same ugly smile he'd sometimes had before a match.

Standing before the threshold, he soundlessly set his sport bag down to the floor and fished his key set out of his track pants. Then, he opened the lock and cringed at hearing the loud _click_ it made. The thief had probably heard him now, however Sandor was fast and opened the door without missing a beat. He'd still be catching him off-guard, no doubt about it. It was dim inside but he had not mistaken, someone was indeed in there... and there were balloons tied here and there as well and... _What the-_

"Surprise!" Sandor heard and as suddenly as that, slim arms were closing around his neck as someone jumped on him, coming from his side.

Sandor exhaled a deep breath, his eyes wide. _Fuck,_ he thought. It was Sansa, he knew it of course, but his expectations had been so different. He'd been ready to fight and now, he had the last person he wanted to hurt, hugging him. Still, his temper had been woken and he was as taut as a fucking bow under her.

"By the fucking Others, little bird, what in the Seven Hells are you doing here?" he asked her as calmly as he could, which meant not much at all.

Her arms stiffened around him and Sandor immediately regretted his tone. He felt her loosen her grip around him until her feet touched the floor.

"Isn't it your nameday?" Sansa asked, her voice small and uncertain. Her big blue eyes were fixed on him, confused. She was wearing a pretty green mini dress and had her long hair down and looked very beautiful.

His pulse resounding in his ears, Sandor glanced at the balloons she had decorated his apartment with. He was still on the adrenaline high and everything seemed very surreal, like he was in a dream or something. _My nameday,_ he mused, a bit taken aback. "It is," he admitted flatly. "How did you know?"

She hesitated and blushed, embarrassed. "I... I looked in your wallet that day you forgot it home. I didn't mean to pry! I was just curious to see what you looked like on your IDs, but then I saw your birth date on your driver's licence and I thought..."

And she thought she should surprise him. Well it had worked alright. Sandor had not expected this in the least. He wasn't sure how to react, was not used to these sorts of attentions. No one had ever surprised him like that for his nameday.

"I hope you don't mind. I thought you would be happy to see me. I even baked a cake for you..." Sansa said, pointing at the kitchen counter.

Sandor gazed in the counter's direction and stared at the cake for a few seconds, his features frozen. Gods, she'd done that for him? He turned to her again. She was on the verge of tears, he realised.

"I'm sorry, I should've told you I'd come. Perhaps you'd have rather be alone tonight," she whispered, looking down.

 _Fuck, what a jerk I am,_ Sandor thought, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching. And to think that he'd been complaining about how distant she'd been these past few days. As he'd been indulging in self-pity, telling himself that she had had enough of him, she'd been planning this for him in secret even though she was super busy with her semester soon coming to an end. And now instead of thanking her and being grateful as he ought to, he was staring at her in silence, a stony expression on his face as if she had done something wrong. _Damned me all the way to the Seven bloody Hells,_ Sandor cursed himself. It was not her fault if he always expected the worst in everything. He'd given her a set of his apartment's keys himself, so why hadn't he thought it might be her paying him a visit and not some random bugger looking to steal his television? Hadn't he told her that she was welcome at any time? Gods, he was such a brute, a brute and a bloody fool as well.

"Fuck, don't be sorry, little bird, I'm just... surprised," he told her, raising his hand to caress her hair. "'Didn't expect this. My nameday, it doesn't mean a thing to me. Just a change of number. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate you doing this for me."

"You're not mad?" she asked, gazing up at him in hope.

A pang of guilt went through Sandor at the view of her red-rimmed eyes. He winced and exhaled."Of course not. I'm always glad to see you. It's just that, I saw light through the window from outside, didn't expect it to be you, don't know why. I thought perhaps it'd be a thief. I was preparing for a fight, little bird."

"Oh, really?" she asked, her eyes rounded.

"Doesn't matter now." Sandor bent down to kiss her on the lips. "I'd like to taste that cake you baked now. What do you say?" he asked, nodding at it.

Sansa smiled at him, obviously relieved, but there was still sadness in her eyes. Once more, Sandor cursed himself inwardly for how cold he'd been at first.

"It's dark chocolate and spice," she said. "Sit down, Sandor, I'll bring you a piece of it." She disentangled herself from his arm and walked to the kitchen counter.

Still not completely calmed down, Sandor went out the door to fetch his sport bag where he had left it on the landing. He shut the door behind himself and removed his leather jacket. The little bird was by the counter with her back to him. Looking away, Sandor sat down and took off his beanie, waiting, but then Sansa turned from the counter and walked to him with the cake in hands.

"Happy nameday, Sandor!" she cried out as she placed it before him on the table. There was a single candle over the cake, its small flame dancing lively.

"Only one candle? You know I'm older than that, don't you?" he japed, but the truth was, Sandor was feeling a bit uncomfortable.

Sansa giggled. "I know! But I was not going to put thirty four candles over your cake! Now blow it out and make a wish!"

 _A wish?_ Well that was easy at least. He looked at Sansa and blew out the small flame.

The cake was beautiful with a dark, shiny icing and white, brown and dark chocolate chips decorating it. It was a pity to have to cut through it, but not trying it out would've been an ever greater crime and so Sandor took the knife Sansa brought him and cut two slices of it. The cake was delicious, very moist and rich and they ate their share side by side by the kitchen table.

"It's excellent," Sandor told her. In no time, he had finished his slice.

"You mean it? You really liked it?" Sansa demanded afterwards. As for herself, she had barely touched her piece of cake. She seemed nervous, as if she had truly feared it might not be to his taste.

"Of course I did, princess, I loved it even. Didn't you see how fast I ate it?" Sandor insisted. "Come over here now," he said, turning to her and laying a hand over her waist. He meant to pull her to his lap, to kiss her and stroke her everywhere as gently as he could so as to make her forget his behaviour of earlier, however she stood from her seat and stepped away from his grasp.

His growl of complaint brought a smile to her lips. "I'm not done yet, Sandor! I have more surprises for you," she exclaimed running to his room. Sandor shifted in his seat and scratched his neck slowly, watching her go. Wasn't the cake enough?

An instant later, Sansa exited his room and walked towards him. "I wasn't sure what to get you," she murmured, a deep blush on her cheeks. In her hands, she was holding a package, all wrapped up in blue and green wrapping paper.

Sandor frowned at the sight. "You didn't need to get me anything, Sansa," he rasped.

"But it's your nameday, Sandor! How could I not get you something? Now open it!"

Sandor did as she asked in silence. He didn't like the idea of her spending her money on him. He'd have preferred that she used it to buy herself something nice, like a pretty dress or whatever else that took her fancy.

Inside the package, there was a black sweater that looked a lot like one of his, his favourite in fact. He gazed at it, unsure what to say. "I have one like this already."

"I know, you wore it on almost half of our dates so far! I do think you look very good in it, but it's really worn-out. I thought having a new one could be a good idea."

Sandor nodded. He didn't want to upset her by disagreeing when she had obviously put a lot of thought into this, still Sandor really loved his old black sweater. It may be slightly threadbare in places, it was very comfortable and he was not ready to part with it yet. It was still in pretty good condition considering he'd had it for nearly ten years. Hopefully Sansa didn't expect him to throw it away.

"It's really nice, little bird, thank you," he rasped, forcing himself to smile.

Sansa smiled back at him, but he was not fooled. She was disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm and Sandor hated himself for not being able to please her more. He really didn't want to make her sad, it was just too bad he'd never been good at pretending.

"Aren't you going to try it on?" Sansa asked.

"Yeah, why not," he agreed awkwardly.

Standing up, he removed the vest he was wearing over his tee-shirt and put the sweater on. It fitted him perfectly, which surprised him. Even himself, he always had a hard time finding clothes that suited him well. It was no easy task given his size.

"Oh, Sandor, I love it!" Sansa let out, grinning. Standing to her feet, she walked around him to better inspect him.

"You've got a good eye, little bird. Even the sleeves are long enough," Sandor commented, impressed.

"I'm happy you like it. Oh, you're so handsome in it!" she let out, both her hands raised to her mouth.

Sandor smiled at her and this time it was genuine. It was not often that women told him he was handsome. And the worst was, he knew she meant it.

"Sandor..." she wavered, suddenly very shy. "I have one last surprise for you. Come." Her face all red, Sansa swirled around and strode to his bedroom so fast, her long hair flew behind her.

Following her at a slower pace, Sandor smirked to himself. Another surprise, this time in his room? _Well, well, well. I wonder what that might be,_ he mused, a bit aroused already. It had to be something naughty of course.

As he entered through the threshold, he half-expected her to be waiting for him in lingerie over his bed, yet to his surprise he'd guessed wrong. No instead, he found her in a corner of the room, installed behind a digital piano. Sandor gazed at her, confused.

"You asked me to sing for you once, so I thought... I thought you might like a song for your nameday..."

 _A song..._ She would sing for him now? "This is... this is a great idea, little bird." As he spoke, Sandor felt his mouth curl into a stupid grin. For as much as he had appreciated the cake and even the sweater, hearing her sing, well now that was something he truly looked forward to. "But how did you carry that thing over here? Not over your back, I hope?" he asked, eyeing the piano. It wasn't that big, but still.

"Of course not! I took a cab and Loras brought it upstairs for me. I hope you don't mind that I let him in."

The idea that she had paid for a cab in order to bring her piano here was faintly annoying - he'd have gladly fetched her home with his van had she asked him to - yet he chased the feeling always at once. He'd been a dick enough already this evening.

"No, or course not," he told her. "Still next time you need arms to carry something for you, be sure to ask me instead."

"So long as it's not for a surprise," Sansa agreed, smiling.

Sandor snorted a short laugh and studied her contentedly. "So, what are you going to sing for me now? One of those old Targaryen songs you told me about?"

"Yes, sort of, though the one I have in mind is much older than that." Then her eyes growing wide, Sansa bit at her lip and knitted her brow desperately. "But oh, Sandor! I'm so nervous!" she let out.

"No need to be nervous with me, little bird," Sandor assured her. "I'm not a difficult audience where you are concerned. I'm won over already. No way I don't love your song."

Sansa nodded, tough she didn't seem any less tense. "Sit down now, please," she told him.

Sandor did as she bid him; he didn't want to add any more pressure on her by making the anticipation last longer than necessary. The bed wasn't made, so he hastily placed the blankets over the mattress and sat down on the side of the bed.

Taking a deep breath, Sansa shut her eyes and started playing her piano.

From the very first note, there was no doubting she was a very talented musician. There was such delicacy to the way she played. Sandor was already mesmerised, but when she started singing, he felt his pulse hasten at once. He couldn't believe how perfect her voice sounded, so soft and supple. She could reach the highest notes with such ease, as if doing so was just as easy as breathing for her.

Sandor was intrigued by the lyrics of the song. They were about a beautiful lady and a fool who rescued her at a time when she most needed it. Despite what anyone might have believed, in doing so the fool proved himself braver than any knight or lord of his time and the lady thanked him with a love so strong and pure, it'd be remembered for centuries afterwards. Hence the song.

Drinking in her every word, Sandor was looking at Sansa, spellbound. She was just so bloody perfect. And that voice she had, as gentle as a caress and yet, strong in its own feminine way when she reached the highest notes... it was incredible. And to think that she'd been shy to start singing. It was fucking _ridiculous_.

Sandor was speechless when she was done. There was a tightness to his chest, something he wasn't used to which prevented him from speaking.

"Did you like it?" Sansa inquired after a few seconds of silence. While she had a tendency to blush easily, he'd never seen her so flushed before. She was trembling, ever so slightly, he realised, as if she feared he might tell her he had not enjoyed it. Foolish girl.

Sandor cleared his voice. "I loved it, Sansa," he said. "Of course, Seven Hells, what the fuck do you think?" A part of him was piqued that she could doubt herself like that when her talent was so undeniable, but the smile she gave him at hearing his answer mellowed him.

"You mean it?"

Sandor sighed. "Of course! I'm no bloody liar. I don't even understand what you're doing here tonight. You should be at some grand concert hall, performing a recital to a bunch of fancy people. Why aren't you studying in music? You have the latent alright."

"Thank you," Sansa breathed, her gaze lowered shyly. "I love music, but I don't want it to become my life. As I told you already, my dream is to stay at Winterfell, my parent's estate, and work for my family's business. I'll always have the possibility of playing music for our guests if I wish to. And besides, performing makes me too anxious! Music would lose its appeal if it became a career rather than a hobby, I think."

"I'm even luckier then," Sandor rasped. "Come over here."

He gestured for her to join him over the bed and she did just that, sitting in his lap. Sandor snaked his arms around her and held her tightly against him. She embraced him back, so very tenderly.

How by the Stranger had Sandor ever won over such a precious little bird? It was a true wonder, really. From the very first time he'd glanced at her, he'd known she was special and today, she'd proven herself even more wonderful than he'd believed. Sandor knew he ought to tell her just how grateful he was, but it was difficult for him to find the right words. He wasn't accustomed to people doing stuff for him and being so generous with him. Still, if he wished to keep the interest she had in him alive, he had no choice but to make an effort.

"Everything you did for me today, princess... for my nameday... I'm a bit overwhelmed. Don't know what to say..."

"It's nothing, Sandor-"

"No, you're wrong, Sansa. You don't know where I come from. I'm not looking for pity, but this is... this is not something I'm used to. That's why I was so stunned to begin with. And I'm still stunned to be honest. I hope you know it doesn't mean I don't appreciate you coming here for my nameday this evening."

Sansa looked up at him and nodded, teary eyes and all, before pressing her face against his chest. Sandor stroked her hair, at a lost. Why was she so melancholy? Even when he tried to be open with her and tell her how grateful he was, it seemed all he ever managed was to make her cry. He knew he had to say something to change the mood, but what?

"Little bird, I'd like more of that cake. It was delicious."

"You liked it?" she asked, her voice so very small.

"You're kidding me, right? It was the greatest cake I've ever eaten," he told her with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "And you've baked it for me. No one's ever baked a cake for me."

"No one?" she repeated.

"Well, not exactly, but it's been a while. Last time it happened was when I turned eighteen, at the youth centre. And it hadn't truly been baked for me to be honest, more like bought all done at the grocery store by one of the social workers who was on duty that day. Wasn't really good from what I remember. Vanilla with an overly sugary, colourful icing and big enough so that all the wards have a piece of it."

"The youth centre…" Sansa breathed. "oh, Sandor..." And with that, she dug her nails into his arm and started weeping against his shoulder. In no time, he could feel the wetness of her tears soaking through the fabric of his brand new sweater.

That took him aback. What had he done wrong again? "The centre wasn't that bad, little bird. You don't need to cry. You might be surprised to hear it, but I mostly have good memories of it. They took us camping during school breaks, fed us hot dogs every Sundays for supper..." he trailed off, stroking her hair.

"Of course… I'm sure it wasn't so bad after… after…"

Sandor looked down at her, unsure what she was talking about. All he could see was the crown of her head and her pretty red hair. "After what?"

She took a deep, shivering breath and sniffed. "After your brother," she continued in no more than the weakest of whispers.

"My _brother_?" Sandor repeated, his heart skipping a beat. What the Hells was she talking about? Closing his hands around her upper arms, he pulled her from his torso so that he could see her face.

Sansa's cheeks were wet with tears, her skin flushed. She seemed petrified and kept her eyes lowered, but she went on. "Sandor, I... I know about your brother, about who he is and what he did to... to you and a lot of other people."

It was as if Sandor had been punched in the stomach. All of a sudden, there was no air left in his lungs and he felt dizzy, almost ill. He removed his hands from around her arms and averted his gaze. _She knows,_ he mused. In a fit of sudden despair, he let himself fall onto his back over the mattress.

"Sandor, please don't be mad at me!" Sansa cried. Still weeping, she followed him onto the mattress and snuggled up against him. "My intentions were never to see if you had skeletons in your cupboard, I swear it! If I found out about it, it was simply by mere chance, because I was interested in _you._ I was just... curious about you. And so I searched for your moniker, the Hound, on the net about two weeks ago and found plenty of pictures of you fighting, and even a video... but then... but then I searched for your full name on last Thursday and found articles about your brother. _Gregor_." She sniffed.

Sandor's head was spinning with all of the information she was feeding him. She'd searched for pictures of him on the net, had seen him fight? The knowledge would normally not have bothered him - to the contrary, he liked the idea of her swooning over pictures of him - and yet there was Gregor, always Gregor, ruining everything... Just the thought of her being aware of his existence made him sick. If he had had a choice in the matter, she'd never have heard of him and even less spoken his name. "So you... you know..." he stated coldly.

Sansa was on her back by his side, her little hand clutching anxiously at his arm and she kept shifting in place even as she spoke. "I've read articles from the News of Westeros," she went on. "There was even one about your testimony... I know how you've gotten your scars, I know that you think your brother killed your father, I know that he beat you, that your father was not present, that you-"

"Shh, I've heard enough," Sandor cut her, too roughly he realised afterwards. He was too dismayed to care though and kept his stare to the ceiling and a scowl to his face. "I'm well aware of whom he is, of what he did - I don't need to hear it from you. I'd have rather you'd never learned of him. He's been nothing but a curse in my life."

"But, Sandor! I hope you're not being serious here," Sansa said.

Rolling onto her side, she laid a hand over his chest and propped herself on her elbow. Sandor met her gaze. Her eyes were red, her eyelashes wet.

"I can understand if you'd rather not reveal everything about your past to me at once, I'm sure it must be hard for you to speak about it. Yet, this is too big of a deal for you not to share it with me at all! You'd have hid it from me forever?"

 _Forever..._ would she be willing to stay with him that long? Sandor chased the thought away, annoyed with himself. Now was no time for hoping. "I've no clue what my intentions were... 'Didn't think about it at all in fact." A snort escaped his lips, the sound sharp and bitter. "Usually, I tend not to think of the women I date and my brother in the same breath. Not good to put me in the mood. And I try not to speak of him either. Women are often not too eager to go out with a man whose brother's a serial killer, don't know why…" He sighed, suddenly very weary. "Actually, I'm surprised you came here tonight at all... You baked me a cake, sang me your pretty little song... Aren't you afraid I'm just as sick as him? I could have it in me, that taste for blood he has. Would make sense that we'd be made of the same wood. I even look the part. You cannot deny it, can you?"

"Don't say that! I know you're nothing like him, Sandor!" Sansa was looking at him imploringly and for some reason, her conviction aggravated him. He averted his eyes, unable bear her gaze anymore.

"How can you be sure? You've known me for just a month; I could be hiding stuff from you. I hid Gregor for one," Sandor retorted. He wasn't sure why he was telling her that. He ought to try to convince her that he had nothing to do with his brother, not the opposite, however the words left his lips as if on their own. He'd always been good at self sabotaging; it'd been a second nature for him for the longest time and falling back into old habits was nothing if not easy. "And what about my ultimate fighting?" he added. "It scared you at first, when I told you about it. Perhaps you were right to be afraid."

"No, Sandor! You're wrong, I was never afraid of you, just... _uncertain_ ," Sansa insisted, her fingers clinging to his sweater. "I had never met anyone like you before and your sport, MMA, it was just so alien to me! But now more than ever, I understand what you meant when you told me you needed an outlet like this. All that rage you told me you had in you as a teenager, I can see where it came from! It shows what sort of person you are, deep down, that even then, you chose to channel it in a sport rather than to be violent with just anybody you met in the streets. It would've been so easy! Many people with the same sort of background as you, with a difficult childhood and no parent to speak of from a young age, they turn to lives of crime like your brother did. Or they become drug addicts. Or they do both! Yet instead, you fought in the _cage,_ as you call it, and worked as a bouncer, and then returned to school as an adult and now, you have your own company! You're nothing like your brother, Sandor! Can't you see?"

Sandor exhaled through his nose and rolled his eyes. That was just too much. "Stop it, Sansa. I'm no Baelor the blessed!" he hissed. Frowning, he tilted his head and glowered at her. "You're fucking idealising me here! I'm not as good as you think. I was never a killer or a thief, that's true enough, but I've never been as white as snow either. Some of the places I worked at were pretty murky to be honest. Fuck, my ex boss is serving a twenty years sentence for money laundering and a whole lot of other misdeeds I'd rather not tell you about. I knew some of the things that were going on at his bars and clubs were not exactly legal but it never bothered me. 'Didn't give a bloody shit about it in fact."

Sansa was looking at him gravely, but she didn't appear repelled by his confessions. With her fingers, she was rubbing him gently from the back of his neck to his shoulders, same as if she wished to comfort him. "That's alright, Sandor. You couldn't have stopped him all on your own anyway," she murmured.

Sandor snorted. Was there no end to her buggering compassion? "Perhaps. Didn't mean I should've kept working for him for a decade like I did." He paused, studying her for a few seconds, wondering how she would react to the rest of it. While he was at it, he might as well tell her everything. "I took plenty of drugs too, you know," he admitted, staring her in the eyes. "For years and years, I got drunk until I passed out many times a week and took coke and pills to make the nights last longer."

Sansa's mouth opened in shock and her fingers stiffened over his shoulders. "Really? Did you have to go to rehab?" she asked, her eyes rounded.

Despite himself, Sandor had to chuckle. She was so bloody naive. "Not everyone who uses drugs becomes an addict and needs to go to rehab, Sansa," he told her, a wan smile pulling at his lips. Unwittingly, he lifted a hand to the small of her back. "I was never _that_ out of control, mind you. Never had problems taking breaks when it was needed for my training or before an important match. Still, it was part of my usual weekly routine alright."

"But you stopped?" she asked, something like worry shining in her wide blue eyes.

Although mere instants before Sandor had sought to provoke her, he found he was glad to be able to give her the answer she was hoping for. In the end no matter what that self-destructive part of him had pushed him to say, the truth was, to chase her away was the last thing he wanted. "I did. I still love a good beer, as you know, and I like getting drunk from time to time, but that's about it. You read about that testimony I did during Gregor's trial, haven't you? That's when everything changed for me. Well more precisely, the trial was the trigger point and the changes began after my brother was sentenced. The whole thing was such a buggering ordeal – if one thing, I was even worse during the few weeks it lasted. I went to every fucking hearing anyway, no matter how hungover I was, and got smashed again when I got back home afterwards. But I had to be there."

Sansa had that sad, compassionate expression on her face again. She nodded and murmured, "Must've been hard for you to see him again."

"Yeah," Sandor admitted, remembering the many glares his brother had shot him from his place at the front of the courtroom. At any moment, he'd expected him to rise from his chair and attempt to fight himself free of his shackles. Sandor had almost hoped that it happened. He would've been ready, would've strode to him and showed him what it felt like to be beaten senseless.

"You're okay, Sandor?" Sansa's soft voice brought him back to the present. He had grown very tense and his jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt.

He nodded and forced himself to relax. He knew he ought to change the subject and bring it to some safer ground, yet something about Sansa impelled him to open up. Perhaps it was because of the way she was gazing at him, of her gentle touch. She made it easy to speak, as if it was the most natural of things. "The hardest was to hear all he did. Most of those he killed, they were less than scumbags and Westeros is a better place without them. But there were also those who didn't deserve their fate. When I heard their stories, it made me wonder if I could have done something to prevent it all. I mean, I knew who he was ever since the day he stuffed my face in that cursed fireplace - and even before to be honest…"

"But you tried, Sandor! You told the police you thought he had killed your father! It's not your fault if they didn't believe you. You were just a child!" The notion that he might blame himself clearly upset her.

That gave Sandor pause. He wasn't used to such empathy. "I guess you're right. Didn't mean much at the time though. Testifying was tough too. I was questioned about my childhood and all the wrong Gregor did me. Speaking of it had never given me anything; no one had ever listened or cared so I learned to keep it all to myself. For years, I never spoke of my past to anyone - or never in detail at least. Having to recount all of it to an audience, it was hard. It brought back memories I'd have rather not have to deal with. Still, at the same time, for the first time of my life, I felt like people really wanted to hear my story and that they believed what I said. And when later on Gregor was found guilty of all of the charges held against him and sentenced to life in prison, it was as if finally the world was admitting to what I had known all along. That he was a psycho and needed to be locked up till the day he died. It was a validation of all I had suffered and I just couldn't believe it. The truth had come out at last and my brother was finally paying for all he had done. For the longest time, I truly thought he would always get away with everything he did." Sandor's voice was raw. It troubled him to see how emotional he still was remembering that pivotal time of his life even after all these years.

"That must've been so liberating for you!" Sansa said, very obviously moved. "You didn't have to carry the truth all on your own anymore. It was out there and you could finally be free of your past."

"Yeah," he rasped, caressing her hair. His eyes were stinging and he blinked a few times. "'Got drunk - really, really drunk after he was sentenced, but then after I sobered up and lived through one of the worst hangover of my life, I realised this had to stop. The life I was leading didn't suit me anymore. I didn't feel like drinking so much, had tired of getting stone. And I had had enough of working night shifts and of the crowd I hung out with. I needed change. And so I quit my job and returned to school. I didn't have time to train as much as I used to so I stopped competing and put my whole focus on getting myself a real career. I didn't miss it anyhow. 'Didn't need to let my anger out in the cage anymore. The anger, it was... _gone_ \- or at least, as near as it's ever likely to be. And now, here I am."

"You came a long way, turned your life around completely! But everything about your story makes sense and now I feel like I understand you more. I'm sorry to have stirred all those painful memories by bringing up the subject – especially on your nameday! Still, I'm glad to have learned more about you and where you come from. You've accomplished so much! I admire you Sandor, you're like some sort of hero... _my hero_." A deep blush on her cheeks, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug and laid her head on his chest.

There had been so much sincerity to her voice and gaze as she spoke, Sandor felt sort of embarrassed. "You're crazy," he told her awkwardly. He wanted to scoff at her – he was not the kind of man a girl like her should admire, what the fuck had he done to deserve that? - but his throat felt oddly tight and the words stayed stuck in it.

"Yes, I'm crazy about you. And by that, I mean... I mean that I... I love you..." she whispered, shivering ever so slightly against him.

His heart hammering in his chest, Sandor glanced down at her, staggered. He'd been dreaming of a moment like this one, hoping for the last few weeks that she would want more from him than just a few casual dates. Only a couple of hours before, he'd been moping around, worried that she was losing interest in him and now she was telling him that she loved him... So why was he not saying anything?

Sansa was apparently wondering the same thing. "Do you... do you share my... my feelings, Sandor? Or do you-"

Exhaling loudly, Sandor put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her upward so that he saw her face again. Their eyes locked and he was once more stuck by just how beautiful he was. "Sansa, what the fuck do you think?" he said, his voice even hoarser than usual. He buried his hand in her silky hair, his thumb resting on her cheek. "I'm just... dumbstruck, I... I'm not used to things turning out so well for me. And this evening, it's been one hell of a roller coaster for me. After everything you've learned, everything I told you... that you still want of me..."

His eyes were stinging again and he blinked. He had had a long day and was tired and now they were watering.

Sansa noticed it and raised her fingers to his upper cheek to touch him where wetness had gathered. "Oh, Sandor!" she murmured, her own eyes shining with tears.

With the same haste than if her fingers had been as burning as hot coal, Sandor flinched from her touch and turned his profile to her. "It's nothing," he said, warmth rising to his face. Gods, was he blushing now? Seven Hells! What the fuck was happening to him?

"It's okay, Sandor. You're just with me. I'm not going to judge you! I love you," Sansa pleaded. She kissed him on the cheek, her lips as light as butterfly wings.

Sandor opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to tell her that she was mistaken, that he never cried, until he realised it was such a blatant lie. He let out a short laugh even as a lone tear went rolling down his burnt cheek. "Seven bloody Hells, princess... See what your sweet love is doing to this old dog? You're turning me into a big, buggering softie." His mouth twitching a few times, he paused and shook his head faintly, before meeting her gaze again. "But you're right, it doesn't matter," he continued, a slight smile curving his lips. "You love me... and, yes, I love you too, Sansa. You're just too perfect to be real. The only woman for me."

A tremulous smile on her lips, Sansa was gazing at him in awe, same as if she had never heard anything more beautiful.

He kissed her on the mouth, gently, a hand behind her head, the other around her waist. Sansa leaned onto him and eagerly moved her lips with his, her palms travelling over his shoulders. Though there was a lot of passion in the kiss they shared, it was slow and unhurried. There was no lust in it, just... _love_. It was the sort kiss Sandor had never cared about before Sansa; he'd always regarded kissing as some form of foreplay, or at least, a way of testing the waters. Kissing someone tenderly in order to express his feelings, that was not something he had ever done...

With Sansa, everything was different. Sandor had never longed for a woman's affection as he did hers, never wanted to be with someone all the time, never envisioned himself in anything resembling a long-term relationship. And to be honest, it was even more than that...

There was no doubting that her feelings for him were deep and genuine, he could see it tonight more than ever. Why else would she cry as she had at the mere thought of what he'd gone through in his childhood - why would she be in his arms at this very instant even after having discovered he shared genes with such a bloodthirsty murderer as his brother? Instead of coming to his place to surprise him for his nameday, in her place, most women would've taken to their heels, changed their phone number and prayed the Seven they never crossed path with him again. The fact that she wasn't wary of him even after having uncovered his darkest secret was very telling of the trust she had in the person he was. While such faith made him love her all the more, it also gave him a sense of responsibility. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ disappoint her. She was all he had ever dreamed of...

After they had parted lips, both he and Sansa stayed silent for a few minutes, nestled against each other. Sandor ran his hand over her back, as softly as he could, and Sansa let out little sighs of contentment. It was one of those very still and perfect moments which almost didn't seem real. If Sandor had had a say in it, it would've lasted forever.

And yet, it was he who broke the magic. Out of nowhere, he suddenly started laughing.

"What is it, Sandor?" Sansa asked, coking her head up to gaze at him. She was smiling and seemed very curious.

Sandor inhaled deeply and threw his head back to stare at the ceiling in wonder. "It's just that... that now, we're even, it seems."

"Even? What do you mean?"

Sandor began sniggering.

"Tell me, Sandor, please!" Sansa insisted, pushing her hands to his chest.

"Well," Sandor started, looking down and narrowing his eyes at her. "We've both found the other's secret doing our little research on the internet, unbeknown to the other. Sansa, I know that-" he paused, grinning like a fool. "Your father... he's a fucking lord."

Her eyes went wide as saucers, which made the whole thing all the more funny.

"And your ancestors, they were kings, by the Seven bloody Hells! I read all about your family's grand history on that Winterfell of yours' web page. Gods, can you imagine that? The princess – the princess and the bloody hound? It's no better than that song you sung me about that fool and that fair, highborn lady he was in love with."

Sansa's face was bright red and she appeared utterly mortified, and yet after a second or two, she burst out laughing. "No, Sandor. Make no mistake. Our story is even better than theirs." And with that, she kissed him on the mouth, laughing.


	18. Chapter 18

_OMG! It's been so long since I've updated this one! Almost three months! I do hope there are still people interested in this fic out there. If you read and enjoy, please let me know! :)_

* * *

"Here you go now, princess," Sandor said as he placed Sansa's carry-on suitcase on the cart next to Jeyne's luggage.

While Sansa had barely been able to lift it, he did it as if it weighted nothing at all _. Gods, how strong he is,_ she thought, her heart fluttering. Was there anything not to love about him?

In the background, the omnipresent voice of a woman could be heard announcing the upcoming flights. A long line of people was waiting at the check-in nearby and travellers, tourists and businessmen and women were hurrying in and out of airport's enormous entrance hall. The place was a hive of activity and very noisy as well, yet Sansa might have been in the middle of a desert for as much as none of it bothered her. Nothing could have taken her attention from the man before her.

"I hope you'll have a great time with your family," he rasped. "Stay warm. It's going to be pretty cold up there. There's supposed to be a snowstorm at the beginning of the week from what I've heard on the weather channel."

"There was snow already when I left four moons ago, silly!" Sansa exclaimed, smiling impishly at him. "Don't you worry! I'm from the North, I'm used to that sort of weather."

He snorted a short laugh. His eyes on her were soft but a bit sad as well and that reminded her of the fact that they would have to part at any moment now. The thought made her lose her smile.

Gazing at him despondently, Sansa snaked her arms around his sturdy neck. "Oh! I'm going to miss you so much, Sandor!" she cried.

His large hands slid around her waist. "You'll be okay, little bird. It's just two weeks," he said, though he didn't sound much convinced himself either.

"Two weeks? It's going to last forever! I cannot wait to see you again..." Sansa complained, closing her arms more tightly around him.

A part of her felt guilty for saying as much. It was not right that she be already looking forward to be back to King's Landing when she had not even left yet. It was not that she didn't miss her family - she couldn't wait to see them again in fact! - but to leave Sandor behind was painful, especially for Sevenmas time.

Sandor had insisted that she shouldn't be sad. Sevenmas didn't mean a thing to him. He would be working almost every day while she'd be gone anyway since there were practicality no electricians available for emergencies during the holidays. He always made a lot of cash during that time of the year for that reason and he wouldn't have wanted to miss the opportunity. He'd promised to spoil her rotten at her return to the capital.

In the end, both she and Sandor had agreed that he coming along with her to Winterfell for the holidays was simply out of the question. They had known each other for less than two months and been officially together for just over three weeks. For any regular couple, introducing him to her family at this point would've rushed. Yet on top of that, there was no doubting that their age difference would stagger her parents. And also, there was Sandor's physical appearance, his past, modest origins and he'd never went to university either... nothing to please her parents in fact!

In time, Sansa would tell her family about him and then introduce him to them when they visited Winterfell later on. She knew she and Sandor would be together for a very, very long time, could feel it in the depth of her heart! They were just so perfect together and Sansa's parents would have to come to term with it, though it would probably take them a while. But for the time being, it was too soon to announce it to them. Sandor agreed; he'd even been the first to suggest as much. He'd told her that he sure wouldn't want his eighteen years old daughter to date a guy like him if he were in her parents' place. If they wished to have any chance that their relationship be taken at least a little seriously by them, they had best wait a bit more.

"I love you, Sandor!" Sansa whispered to him. She got on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

Closing his hands around her waist, he pulled her against him until her feet all but hung in the air. He lowered his face near hers, his gaze on her intent.

"Call me every day, Sansa. At least twice a day... _more if you can_. I'll be thinking of you all the time," he murmured.

Sansa nodded and they kissed, passionately, the crowd around them completely gone.

The moment might have lasted even longer was it not for the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupting them. They parted lips and Sansa reluctantly loosened her arms from around Sandor's neck to look behind herself. As she had expected, it was Jeyne. Gods, she was already back? It seemed to Sansa like she had only just left to purchase magazines and snacks at that airport convenience store nearby. Reluctantly, she withdrew from Sandor's embrace, her feet touching the grown as he carefully set her down.

Jeyne was smiling awkwardly at them. "Are we going now?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sansa said sorrowfully, still keeping a hand on Sandor's chest.

Sandor grabbed it in his. "Jeyne's right. You both need to go." With that, he released her hand and nodded towards the check-in line. "Go on now. Don't make your friend wait," he told her before discreetly slapping her bottom.

Sansa squeaked in affront and then burst out giggling. He always knew how to make her laugh when she needed it most!

"Thanks for the lift, Sandor," Jeyne told him, smiling timidly.

While she was still not totally at ease with him, Jeyne had warmed to Sandor lately.

Two weeks ago, the bathroom's ceiling light of Sansa and Jeyne's shared apartment had stopped working. They changed the bulb, but it didn't do any good. Their landlady was unreachable and so, they had had to take their showers in the dark on that evening. Sansa didn't hesitate to ask Sandor for his help on the next morning when the landlady still didn't reply. He was an electrician after all, so why not make use of it? As she had predicted, he agreed without a second of hesitation. He came to their apartment later on, just after his shift, and fixed their problem in less than a half hour. Afterwards, they all ate supper together and shared a bottle of red wine.

Since then, Jeyne had come to appreciate him. She'd even told Sansa that she could now understand what she found in him, that he was a nice guy in spite of how unapproachable he seemed when you didn't know him. And today, he had given them a lift to the airport without Sansa even having to ask for it! He'd insisted to do it although he had to reschedule a contract to make some free time for it. How could anyone not like him? He was the perfect boyfriend!

Sansa kissed him, one last time, and Jeyne and she headed away toward the check-in with their kart in tow. After they had taken place in line, Sansa peered through the crowd and managed to locate Sandor walking away. She could barely see him at the distance he was at. Yet same as if he could sense her gaze on him, he turned to look behind himself and waved at her. Sansa waved back, keeping her eyes on him until she couldn't discern his large shape anymore. _Only two weeks,_ she reminded herself with a pang.

Later on while on the plane, Jeyne was watching what appeared to be a romantic comedy, a large grin on her face. As for herself, Sansa was trying to read one of the magazines her friend had purchased. The one she had in hands was a gossip magazine called _Wester-Us_ and the article she was reading was about a very famous and rich heiress called Daenerys Targaryen and her current affair with an ill repute older playboy called Daario Naharis. Many anonymous sources close to the couple predicted their relationship wouldn't last. Naharis had been with countless beautiful women before Daenerys, most of them supermodels. It was doomed to end abruptly from the moment he got bored of her, most of those sources advanced. Still, others believed that it was she who would end up breaking up with him when she tired of financing his taste for luxury. It was said that she kept splurging on him, that they only ate at the finest restaurants as they travelled the world, that they went on shopping sprees everyday and that it was all at her expense. For how long would it last?

Sansa was looking at a picture of them on a yacht, wondering if she could ever hope to become as tanned as Daenerys Targaryen. Her blond hair was nearly silver, and yet here she was, her skin as golden as only a Dornishwoman's had a right to be while Sansa only ever burned in the sun. _It must be sprayed on,_ she concluded after a moment. _Sandor loves my pale skin anyway,_ she reminded herself, discarding the magazine.

She shut her eyes with the intention to nap, yet images of Sandor came to her instead. She smiled, the thought of him making her happy.

Ever since his nameday, they had only grown closer and closer. There was no doubt in Sansa's mind that he was the man of her life. She may be young to jump to such conclusion and it was true they had not known each other for very long, yet the feelings she had were so strong that she couldn't find it in her to doubt them. This was not something you made up, it was too clear and intent to be false!

And Sandor agreed - he'd told her as much. Told her he had never loved anyone like he did her, never envisioned himself with anyone, truly, but her. And he'd said it first... the word... _forever_.

Forever, what a beautiful word it was when spoken by the person you loved... And yet, now that they each would be at opposite ends of the continent for two whole weeks, Sansa couldn't think of another word to describe how long their time apart would seem to her and suddenly, forever became the most horrible of words...

* * *

In the end, no matter how much it pained her to leave Sandor alone for Sevenmas, Sansa was ecstatic to see her family again. From the moment she glanced Robb at the airport, all of her sadness was momentarily forgotten. He was so handsome, her older brother! She jumped in his arms and he hugged both her and Jeyne. It seemed to Sansa as if they had not seen each other for years and years!

Robb had left home to study management and finance in the Riverlands a few years ago yet ended up coming back to Winterfell just before Sansa left although he had not completed his master's degree yet. His then-girlfriend, Jeyne – who shared Sansa's best friend's first name – was pregnant and they needed to marry as soon as possible. They might not have tied the knot so early without that little 'accident', yet Robb had assured everyone that they'd have done it eventually no matter what. Mum and dad had been pissed at first but as Robb had promised to complete his master's through distance learning, they had quickly warmed to the idea of having him nearby and were now beyond excited about the upcoming birth of their first grandchild. Robb and his new wife had move to a cottage on the estate's grounds and they now both worked in the family's business, so everything had turned out perfectly! Wasn't it wonderful?

After having dropped Jeyne at her parent's home, Robb drove them directly to Winterfell. It was so nice to be back! All of Sansa's family was waiting on the castle's threshold when she arrived. Her mother, her father, Arya, Bran, Rickon... How wonderful it was! They all hugged and kissed and talked. Jon would arrive to Winterfell with his girlfriend in just a few days, they told her. Sansa couldn't wait to see him as well!

After at least an hour of standing in the hallway and chatting, Sansa brought her luggage to her room and unpacked her stuff. She had only left for King's Landing a little over four months ago and yet it seemed to her as if she'd been away forever. Her room was both familiar and alien to her, as if it was someone else's. It was strange to think that when she had last been here, she had not known the first thing about Sandor...

Sansa's parents were so happy to see her again – as she was – and her mother questioned her endlessly about everything as they ate supper. Her life in King's Landing, college, her teachers, her new friends, her apartment... They had always been pretty close and did speak often on the phone, still it was not the same to be face to face. And Sansa had also called her less often for the last month or so... She had pretended that it was because of all the projects she had to prepare and exams she needed to study for and while it was true indeed that she had been quite busy, it was not solely because of school...

"So, have you met any interesting boys at college? You've never told me about it, have always evaded the subject," Mum asked, sending her a sly look.

From the way Sansa's father frowned as he chopped his pork chop, she could tell he didn't care to learn about her love life. If it had been up to him, she would never have grown up and always stayed a little girl playing dolls in the Godswood.

For some reason, even her mother's innocent question made Sansa blush. "No, I didn't meet any... _boy_ ," she answered, gazing down at her dish. It was not truly a lie. She had met Sandor, yet he was anything but a boy. He was the very definition of a real man.

"Still heartbroken over Harry?" Arya commented, a sneer on her face. "You should open yourself to meeting other guys and go on dates with them. Even if you're not _in love_ with them. Who cares? You need to have fun! Harry doesn't deserve that you stay sad and lonely like this for so long."

"I'm not sad and lonely at all!" Sansa retorted, annoyed by her sister's perception of her. She looked up at her from her meal, her brow furrowed. "I'm even actually very happy at the moment. More than I was with Harry to be sure." It was more than true. And it was not just thanks to Sandor. Sansa had been having a blast in King's Landing from the moment she arrived a few weeks before her term started.

"There's nothing wrong in taking one's time, especially at your ages," Eddard Stark cut them both sternly. "Sansa is still young, as you are, Arya. Either of you could very well not have boyfriends for many, many years and there'd be nothing wrong with it."

"For _years_? But, dad! I'm sixteen!" Arya retorted, her face red with anger.

"Still a child," he answered sharply. There was some unresolved conflict between them, it was easy to tell. Sansa decided it was probably best that she let the matter drop and stayed silent for the time being.

Robb and his wife seemed to agree with her, for they were both gazing down uneasily at their meals even as they distractedly chopped their pork. As for Bran and Rickon, they were gazing at one another and looked just about to burst out laughing, yet they thankfully knew better than to actually do it and kept their faces downcast.

"A child? But Jon was my age when he started dating Ygritte and you never forbid it! Is it because I'm a girl-"

"Ridiculous! It has nothing to do with it. Ygritte was his classmate! The same age as him – not some older-"

"Ned, please," Sansa's mother intervened in a calm yet firm voice. "Now is not the time to settle this."

Both Arya and their father stopped arguing and everyone resumed eating in awkward silence. Thankfully, Mum soon broke it and started describing to Sansa the renovations that had taken place in the west wing of the castle and the new additions to the glass garden which had been made during her absence. Soon enough, everyone was smiling and exchanging with one another as if nothing had happened.

The meal of pork chops, mashed potatoes and asparaguses mum had cooked was delicious and Sansa would have taken a second serving had it not been for the apple pie which waited on the counter. As they all ate a slice of it with ice cream and tea, Jeyne told Sansa about how much she loved it here in the North and then Robb shared some of their plans regarding the baby's arrival. Bran was getting outstanding grades, even better than on the previous year, the later informed her proudly, while Rickon was doing okay at school, but excelling in sports. As for Arya, she had started practicing karate a few months ago and she loved it! Sansa noticed how tense Daddy grew as Arya enthusiastically described all that she had learned. She had an inkling this had to be linked with the conflict there was between them. She decided to question her sister about it later on.

"Why is dad so tense? He mentioned an older guy earlier on... Has something happened?" Sansa asked when they were both alone in Sansa's room a couple of hours after supper.

"Well, not really, Dad is just freaking out for no reason! Genry's just my friend."

"Gendry?"

"He's a guy I met at the _Water Dancing Karate Centre_ where I train. I started learning karate in Master Forel's class just after you left for King's Landing. He tasked one of his long time pupil to help me practice and we've became fast friends. We started hanging out together out of the studio lately, but Dad hates it because Gendry is twenty one."

Sansa smiled at her sister. She and Arya had something in common, it seemed. That was a first. "Are you in love with him?" she asked, her eyes sparkling as she thought of her own love for Sandor.

Arya's face turned as red as a tomato in less than a second. "In love? I don't know! I like him, he's fun and smart and is an excellent karate instructor. I don't think I'll get much of a chance to ever find out if there could be something more between us though. Dad won't allow it to happen. He has even spoken of asking Master Forel to only give me private lessons so that I don't see Gendry anymore. Thankfully, Mum has objected since she knows how much I love training with the group, but they've both agreed that I shouldn't see Gendry out of class. Mum says we can be friends at the studio but that it's not appropriate for us to go out just the two of us."

Sansa's smile wavered. She wondered how her parents would react when they'd learn about Sandor. At least, she was eighteen so they couldn't stop her from seeing him, yet there was no doubting they would not be very happy about it. When Sansa had been sixteen like Arya, Sandor had been thirty two...

Her heart beating fast, Sansa was wavering over whether or not she should tell her sister about her new boyfriend when Rickon all of a sudden stormed into her room with his huge, dirty dog Shaggydog. Lady immediately rose from where she had been napping peacefully by Sansa's bed and both dogs started barking and play-fighting together. Rickon jumped on Arya and she let out a cry and began wrestling with him by the dogs.

 _I guess my revelation will have to wait,_ Sansa gathered. A part of her was relieved not to have to open up to Arya just now, yet another was disappointed as well. In the end though, there would still be plenty of other occasions for her to share her secret with her sister. This was only the first day of her stay at Winterfell after all.

* * *

Sevenmas came and went faster than Sansa could have imagined. Each day was very eventful and passed so fast, she wondered if she would have time enough to do all that she had planned. The whole family did a lot of activities together: they cooked, played board games, went shopping at Winter town, took long walks in the forest nearby with their dogs and even went on a daytrip to the nearest mountain to ski at some point.

Jon and Ygritte arrived at Winterfell a couple of days before Sevenmas along with Benjen, Sansa's uncle who was a forest warden at the Wall Nation Park, just like Jon. It was so wonderful to be surrounded by all those people she loved and Sevenmas turned out to be a really special moment. Yet, she missed Sandor and often, she caught herself daydreaming of some other future Sevenmas, one which would take place in a year or two and where he'd have been invited. She could almost picture him sitting among them, enjoying himself and laughing along with the others. Her family would like him once they had gotten over their first shock, Sansa was convinced about it! He was so wonderful, smart and funny, what was there not to love about him? It pained her to think that he most likely was alone in those moments. At least they exchanged many texts all through the day and called each other every evening. Sansa always looked forward to hear his husky voice through the receiver, telling her how much he missed her, how much he loved her...

* * *

"My cousin Jon has given me a bottle of that renowned local vodka they brew north of the wall. It's spiced with herbs that only grow up there, at the height of their few summer years. Spruce cones are added in the casks as well to add flavour. It's supposed to taste very queer when you try it for the first time but to be excellent with tonic water and a slice of lime. I'll bring the bottle to King's Landing when I come back and we could try some of it together."

"Good idea," Sandor said, his low, gravelly voice like a warm and manly caress to her ears.

It was late, almost midnight, and Sansa was comfortably sprawled in her bed with her covers pulled to her chest. The lighting in her room was subdued and the castle was very quiet. She had brushed her teeth and put on her old flannel pyjama. All that remained before she could fall asleep was that she shut the accent light by her bed and closed her eyes. That, and for Sandor to wish her good night.

"I miss you, Sandor," Sansa whispered sleepily to him.

He grunted in complaint. "Gods, cannot wait to see you again, little bird." The sigh that escaped his lips afterwards made it sound as if he carried the weight of the world over his shoulders.

Sansa shared his pain, yet before she could say as much, Sandor let out a snort.

"But why wait when I could see you right away?" he asked, a bit smugly. "You could take a picture of yourself and send it to me just now. It won't be as good as being able to touch and kiss you, but it'll still be better than nothing."

Sansa bit at her lower lip. "I'm not very pretty at the moment, Sandor. You may be disappointed. I'm wearing an old pyjama and my hair is all tangled!"

"What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?" he rasped, half mocking, half genuinely annoyed. "Why the fuck would I ever be disappointed? You're always beautiful, Sansa, no matter what you do. Come on now, make this old dog happy and take the damn picture!"

"Alright," Sansa agreed, a blush creeping over her cheeks. "I'm putting you on speaker now."

When he spoke again, his voice came out even hoarser than it actually was. "Aren't you afraid your parents are going to hear me? I cannot pass for Jeyne, can I?"

Sansa giggled. "Their room is not nearby mine. Besides, the walls are very thick in Winterfell. There's no danger." It was true and yet she lowered the volume, just to be sure.

After having opened her phone's camera, Sansa studied critically the image of herself which appeared on the screen. She tidied her hair as much as was possible with only her one hand and then, took a few pictures.

"What's taking so long?" Sandor complained.

"It's been less than a minute! You're being very impatient. I want to make sure I look good on the photo I send you, that's all!" she scolded him gently. "Here, I'm sending you one now. Did you receive it?"

"Yes," he said lowly.

"How do you like it?"

"Mmm, very sexy."

"Sexy?" Sansa repeated sceptically. "But I'm wearing an old flannel plaid pyjama!"

"Perhaps, but it's a bit open down your neck. I can almost see your cleavage. I thought it was supposed to be cold in the North."

"Outside it is, but not in Winterfell. There is hot spring water running through its walls, like blood in a human body, haven't I told you?"

"Yeah, you have." He paused. "I like you hair like that too."

"Really? But, it's a mess, Sandor! I didn't even brush it after I took my shower."

"A beautiful mess. Reminds me of how it looks just after we had sex."

Heat permuted Sansa's face. Gods, how she missed sleeping with him... "Will you send me a picture of you as well?"

He snorted. "You really want to see my ugly face?"

"It's not ugly! Don't say that, I love your face!" Sansa retorted, piqued. "It's got a lot of... _character_."

That made him chuckle. "That's a nice way to put it."

"But it's the truth, whatever you think! Will you send me one now? I miss you as well, you know."

"Alright, why not? But I warn you, my hair's a mess too," he rasped mockingly. "Just give me a moment."

Sansa held her phone in her hands, waiting for Sandor's text message to pop up.

"It's done now, how do you find me?" he asked.

A picture appeared on Sansa's screen. Her eyes grew wide and she gasped even as she pressed over it to enlarge it. "What?!" she let out, looking at the picture of Sandor's erect penis he had just sent her.

Sandor's rough guffaw resounded in Sansa's room. To hear him, nothing had ever been more hilarious.

"Oh! Sandor! Why…? What…" Sansa was speechless. She was holding her phone just a few inches from her face, staring at its screen in disbelief.

"I thought you'd said you loved the way I look?" he scoffed. "Or perhaps you find that my cock _lacks character_?"

Sansa burst out laughing. "Of course not! It's certainly... _imposing_. And sort of intimidating even, when you see it for the first time! A little like you."

"Really?" Sandor asked.

"Yes, but same as for the rest of you, it's just a question of getting to… to know it. Or perhaps I should say, of getting used to it?"

Sandor snorted. "Well, you certainly have gotten used to it, haven't you?"

"Yes…" Sansa agreed shyly. Then her cheeks burning, she added: "But why is it like _that_? Gods, Sandor, were you...?"

"Masturbating? Nah, I wasn't. Only distractedly playing with it. But seeing that pretty picture you just sent me sure has helped getting it in its present state." He paused and Sansa could almost feel him grin. "Will you send me more pictures of you? Perhaps with a bit less clothes..."

"No!" Sansa cried out.

Her conviction made him chuckle. "Well, that was clear enough."

"You shouldn't have done this yourself either you know, Sandor!" she insisted sternly. "Taking pictures of your private and then sharing them, it's a horrible idea! What if someone managed to hack your phone?"

"If all the bastard finds is a photo of my cock, he'll be disappointed." There was a brief instant of silence at the other end of the line. "Well… that is unless he's gay, of course. But you've convinced me anyway. I don't want anyone to get their dirty hands on racy pictures of you. Better I use my imagination as I take care of that tension I have after we've hung up. Hmm... Or maybe you could talk dirty to me while I do it? Would you like that?"

Sansa tensed, her eyes widening. "Oh no, please, Sandor! Don't make me do this! It'd be so embarrassing!"

"Embarrassing? Why should you ever be embarrassed with _me_?" he asked, laughing. "Still don't you worry. I'm not a cruel man, or at least, not where you're concerned. I'll take care of myself on my own, though you'll be on my mind."

Sansa sighed in relief. "I'm fine with that," she admitted shyly.

"You better be because you've no choice anyway. Sleep tight now, princess. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Yes, please do," Sansa replied softly. "Good night, Sandor. I love you."

"Love you too."

After they had both hung up, Sansa looked at the photo Sandor had sent her again. _I should erase it_ , she mused, her pulse resounding in her ears.

She kept her eyes fixed on the screen and approached her index finger to the little garbage-can icon, but she found herself unable to do it. She missed Sandor so much, and erasing any picture of him, even one of his big, indecently aroused dick, made her feel absurdly guilty. _I'll keep it until I'm back in King's Landing,_ she decided.

A little, wicked smile on her lips, she shut the screen and put her phone on her night table. And as she gradually fell asleep, she grinned to herself as she imagined what Sandor might be doing at that same instant.


	19. Chapter 19

_Yay! New chapter for this story! I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

"What?!" Arya exclaimed, her eyes wide in shock as she stared at the photo Sansa was showing her on her phone's screen.

"He looks worse on this picture because that's part of the game and of the culture of the sport, you know! They need to intimidate their adversaries," Sansa hurried to explain, smiling stiffly at her sister

Both girls had just finished watching a movie on their own in the media room and were sitting side by side on the couch in their pyjamas. Sansa had surmised it was the perfect occasion to tell her younger sister about her new boyfriend and while she didn't regret doing so, Arya's reaction was just as bad as she had feared.

 _Gods, why have I never taken my own pictures of Sandor?_ Sansa wondered. It would've been nice to have at least _one_ to show Arya where he didn't look like he wanted to murder someone. Yet for some reason, she never did, thus all she had this evening was the photos of him fighting in the cage she had saved on her phone... _that, and a picture of his dick_ , Sansa thought, blushing. She wasn't sure why she hadn't erased it yet. _I'll do it later tonight,_ she made a mental note.

"Give it to me," Arya said, wresting Sansa's phone from her hands to bring it just a few inches from her face.

Sansa let her do it and leaned over her sister's shoulder to gaze at the picture on the screen with her. Her hands were clammy and her heart beating really fast. She knew she ought to say something, yet she stayed silent.

"What happened to his face? Seven Hells, those scars aren't too pretty, aren't they? I thought you liked handsome guys?" Arya commented, zooming in on his burns.

"He had a... an accident when he was just a child," Sansa said. The truth was more complicated than that of course, however spilling it all out was simply out of the question at this point. "I think he looks good in spite of them."

Arya eyed her like she was crazy, but then she burst out laughing. "I can't believe this! Where the fuck did you find that guy, Sansa?" she asked, a huge gin on her face.

"He's my friend Margaery's upstairs neighbour," Sansa answered uneasily.

"How old is he?"

Sansa hesitated, yet even if it had been her intention, lying about this would not only have been dim but pointless as Sandor looked very much his age. "Thirty four…"

Arya guffawed even louder, throwing her head back with tears pearling at the corners of her eyes. "Mum and dad are going to blow a fuse when you tell them about this!" she predicted enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I know," Sansa agreed in total despair.

Once she had stopped laughing, Arya returned her gaze to the screen to study Sandor closely. "Well, on the bright side, that is excellent for me. That'll put things in perspective for dad especially. I don't think he'll mind Gendry as much after that."

A weak chuckle escaped Sansa's lips. "Yeah, maybe this'll turn out positively for you at least. I do hope it helps your cause."

"When are you going to announce it to them?" Arya inquired with utter interest.

Sansa's heart jumped in her throat at the mere notion. "Not yet! Please keep quiet about this, Arya!"

Squinting, Arya eyed her like she had said something stupid. "I'll let you tell them yourself of course, don't you worry! Don't want to be the one facing their dismay, I have enough of my own problems."

Sansa wasn't sure whether she ought to thank her sister for not planning to interfere or resent her for reminding her of how difficult Sandor's introduction to her parents promised to be. Letting out a long whimper, she grew limp and slumped into the couch.

"I do understand why you'd prefer to wait to be gone from home to tell them," Arya commented, her gaze back on the screen. "I think that's a good plan in your situation. I sure would rather announce it to dad on the phone too."

Sansa bit at her lip. "It's not the reason why I've decided to wait though. At the moment, I feel like it's just too soon. I know Sandor and I are serious, but mum and dad won't believe it of course. They'll think he's taking advantage of me or something of the sort. Time will give us more credibility...I hope."

"Hmm," Arya grunted, unconvinced. Then touching her finger to the screen, she flipped to the next image. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "It's even better when he bleeds like on this one! That's the one you should show mum and dad when you first tell them about him!" she exclaimed, sniggering.

"Oh gods, no! I didn't show you this one on purpose, it's the worst I have!" Sansa cried, straightening her back to have a better view. While that was certainly true, she had also grown to find Sandor extremely hot on it in some wild kind of way, but she judged it best not to share that bit of information with Arya.

Arya flipped to the next image, laughing as she saw a photo of Sandor punching another man in the face, but then, Sansa remembered that she had saved his dick's picture in the same folder. Her eyes grew wide with dread.

"Enough now, give me back my phone," she exclaimed, reaching for it.

"Wait, I'm not done! I want to see more photos!" Arya answered, moving the phone away.

Sansa managed to grab it. "But you've seen them all! Now give it back to me!" she demanded. They fought for a few seconds, but then Sansa succeeded in tearing the phone from her sister's hands. Without waiting an instant longer, she shoved it in her pyjama's bottom's pocket and stood up from the couch.

Arya groaned in complaint and glared at her.

Smiling tensely, Sansa took a step back and shrugged. Cold sweat beaded over her brow. It had been close, very close! "My battery is almost dead. Don't want to miss Sandor's call! He's sure to try to reach me at any moment now."

Arya narrowed her eyes at her suspiciously. "Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes.

An awkward moment of silence passed between them, however just as Sansa was about to believe her sister was genuinely mad at her, Arya spoke.

"Well, at least, I'm glad for you that you got over Harry. He was a total scumbag. I never understood what you found in him, but your tastes in guys have always been horrible so it's not like I was ever surprised. At least, that new hulking boyfriend of yours promises to be more entertaining. And I sure would love him to teach me some of his fighting techniques. How do you think the parents would react if I were to pick up extreme fighting on top of karate? Are there any women leagues? "

"Oh! I don't know!" Sansa replied, laughing. She smiled at her sister, liking the idea that Sandor and her might bound over their common interest in combat sports, though that would likely not please mum and dad.

"Just don't wait too long before you tell the parents; you need remember me and my cause. And please! Do post a picture of you two on facelog as soon as you can! Harry is going to flip out when he sees it! Oh, to be a fly on the wall when he learns of it..." Arya regretted with a wicked grin on her lips.

Sansa giggled. It wasn't such a bad idea. This almost made her regret not to have kept contact with Harry. Almost.

* * *

Their luggage retrieved and piled over a cart, Jeyne and Sansa walked towards the airport terminal's exit. Or more exactly, they strode, for Sansa couldn't wait to see Sandor. They'd exchanged a couple of texts after her plane had landed and she knew he was there, waiting for her.

Sansa spotted him from the moment she went through the gate. Leaving the cart to Jeyne, she ran to Sandor, grinning. He was smiling too and Sansa beamed at him when she noticed he was wearing the sweater she had given him for his nameday under his leather jacket. He looked so handsome in it!

"Oh, Sandor!" she exclaimed, jumping his arms.

"Little bird," he said in a low rasp, his hands closing around her waist. "So good to see you again." The look in his eyes was so intent and genuine, it melted her heart.

"Oh, how I love you, Sandor!" Sansa whispered. They kissed each other passionately, not caring about the buzzing crowd around them.

"Hi," Jeyne told Sandor timidly just as he lowered Sansa to the ground. She had been waiting by their side in silence.

"Hi, Jeyne. Had fun during the holidays?" Sandor asked her.

"Yeah, it was great being back home," she answered. Once more, Sansa was glad about their new cordial relationship.

Chatting about all they had done during Sevenmas time, they all headed towards the exit, Sandor pulling the cart behind him. He gave them a ride to their shared apartment, but Sansa only brought up her luggage – or more precisely, Sandor did - before she returned with him to his van. There was no way in Westeros they spent the evening and night apart after having been separated for two whole weeks!

"You do realise I'll be carrying you right to my bed from the moment we step into my place, do you? You won't even get a chance to realise what's happening to you before you'll find yourself on your back, naked under me," Sandor informed her with a smug air about him. He was holding the steering wheel with one hand and slowly caressing her thigh with the other.

"Oh, really?" Sansa asked, her pulse accelerating and her belly fluttering in excitement.

"Yes, I think I may even throw you over my shoulder as I get off the van and stride up the stairs like that."

"But what if someone sees us?" Sansa let out, her eyes grown wide. "What if Margaery or Loras does?"

"They'll know better than to interfere. I won't even spare them a glance."

Sansa knitted her brows. "Perhaps, but they'd tease me forever about it afterwards! Especially Margaery! She'd say I'm dating a caveman, or something like that. I think I'll climb up the stairs on my own, thank you very much."

Sandor snorted. "Alright then. I'll keep my inner caveman in check until we reach my place's threshold. After that, be ready for anything."

Sansa bit at her lip. Her cheeks were burning and her loins were starting to throb. Sandor's huge hand was still on her thigh, his touch on her increasingly insistent. His fingers were getting higher and higher and sliding under her skirt. She may be wearing tights, it was still getting a bit too much.

She slapped his hand. "Stop it, Sandor! Keep your attention on the road. What if we had an accident? We won't get to have sex then," she told him.

"I'm driving carefully, Sansa. You don't have to worry," he retorted, though he removed his hand and put it back on the wheel. "Be sure I wouldn't spoil my chance to screw you. Not after all this time," he added with a grin.

They arrived on his street an instant later and Sandor parked his van in the parking lot just behind his apartment building. "Hurry up now if you truly don't want me to carry you like a sack of potatoes."

Sansa giggled and got out of the van at once. She climbed up the metallic exterior stairs in no time and was waiting on the balcony when Sandor arrived. They both entered, Sandor's hand on the small of her back.

"You're going to get it now, princess," Sandor rasped threateningly.

Sansa turned around to look up at him with rounded eyes, feeling delightfully nervous. She was expecting him make good of his promise and throw her over his shoulder at every instant now, but instead, he scooped her up in his arms as carefully as if she were made of glass. Sansa smiled as he kissed her on the mouth.

In no time, they were in his bedchamber and he was gently settling her onto the bed. Sansa sat up and took off her coat even as Sandor tossed his clothes to the floor. She could tell he was already hard under his jeans and the notion aroused her all the more.

Sansa pulled her dress over her shoulders and threw it to the ground. She squirmed out of her tights and removed her bra and panties. Sandor was watching her, standing naked in front of her with his closed fist moving up and down the length of his dick.

"Seems like I've been waiting to see you like this forever, little bird," he rasped.

Sansa smiled and approached him on her hands and knees. "See me like _what_?"

"Naked as on your nameday, on my bed... ready to be fucked."

Laying a hand on Sandor's own big hand, she brought her face near his penis and circled its head with her lips. Sandor groaned in approval, digging his fingers into her hair. Sansa had never sucked him without a condom before and she could taste the salt of him. She liked it.

Sandor seemed to like it too. "Gods, this is good, Sansa..." he murmured as she swirled her tongue around him.

His hand reached for her behind and soon, his fingers were stroking her between the legs, her position on all four giving him perfect access.

"Mmm," Sandor murmured thirstily, as he felt how wet she was. He slid two thick fingers in her and Sansa gasped around his member at the exquisite sensation.

His touch on her making her all the hornier and eager, Sansa took more of his length in her mouth, until she couldn't go any further for fear that she might choke. Then, she withdrew her lips, slowly, before taking him deeply inside her mouth again and repeating the motion, over and over. After a couple of minutes of that, she caught a small drop of semen which had pearled at the tip of his penis with her tongue as she removed her mouth completely from him. There was nothing disgusting about it, she even loved the taste of it, Sansa realised with some surprise. Opening her lips, she made to resume sucking him, but Sandor had had enough and stopped her from doing so.

"On your back now," he told her, pushing her away from him.

Sansa groaned in complaint but she obeyed and lay down onto the bed, instinctively opening her legs for him. Sandor contemplated her hungrily, his gaze lingering between her thighs for a few seconds, yet eventually, he leaned backward and reached for his night table's drawer where he kept his condoms.

"Don't," Sansa told him. "We don't need this."

Sandor stopped short to look at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I... I take the pill. Have been for longer than we've known each other in fact..."

"Really?" he asked, a smile spreading on his face.

"Yes, I never told you because, well... condoms are safer. But now that you're my boyfriend... that we love each other... I don't feel like... like it's necessary anymore. I trust you." Sansa told him, blushing.

"You do?" he asked, feigning surprise.

"Yes, of course! Am I wrong?"

Sandor snorted a short laugh and grinned. "No, little bird, you aren't. I'm devoted to you, more than you could ever imagine," he said, lowering himself on her. "And screw those bloody rubbers. I'll happily to be rid of them. I don't want anything standing between us, Sansa. Nothing at all."

With that, he penetrated her, guiding himself with his hand. Sansa was well moist for him and his entrance was smooth. She moaned, her eyes rolling back. Gods, how she'd missed being so utterly filled by him...

"Seven Hells, little bird. 'Didn't think fucking you could get any better, but I was wrong," Sandor breathed, panting.

Sansa had to agree. It did feel different without a condom, more direct, and there was something intoxicating about the notion of it as well. I was the first time she did it without one and she was glad it was with Sandor.

They kissed passionately even as Sandor grinded his hips against her. Their lips never parting, they moved as one, his shoves in her growing more and more vigorous but Sansa was following his cadence just as eagerly. He was so heavy on her, and his strong, masculine scent was driving her wild with lust.

"I love you, Sandor," she told him when he removed his lips from hers.

While he didn't reply, the look he gave her was all the answer Sansa needed. She snaked her arms around his broad shoulders, smiling as he buried his face in the crook of her neck to kiss her there.

With a deft hand, he began moulding her breasts and rolling one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, yet in no time, his touch had moved down to her folds to stroke her there. Sansa moaned in the most languorous manner. His ministration, added to his continuous comings and goings in her was bringing her over the edge of madness. In less than a minute, her climax hit her and she cried out in ecstasy.

"Yes, little bird... yes," Sandor muttered feverishly as he watched her come.

Instants later, it was his turn. Groaning, he spilled his sperm in her for the very first time. Sansa hugged him as he shook ever so slightly over her and shortly, he rolled on his back and pulled her against him. Already, she could feel his semen slowly drip down her inner thighs. She was happy about it, though she couldn't say exactly why. By the grin Sandor had on his face, he shared the feeling.

"'Was only the first round, you know it, don't you?" he informed her cockily.

Sansa smiled at him. "I was not expecting anything less from you," she said, giggling. "I know you'd never disappoint me." And with that, she closed her arms tightly around him and kissed his scarred cheek.


	20. Chapter 20

_Yay! This chapter is at last completed! I hope you enjoy it! As for myself, I had a blast writing it! :D_

* * *

 _This evening_. _I'll do it it evening,_ Sansa decided as she prepared herself for school in the morning. After four months of dating Sandor, it was about time she told her parents about him, no matter how she knew they wouldn't like it. She couldn't keep hiding their relationship forever! Sandor deserved better than that! _Yes, I'll tell them about him this evening,_ she repeated to herself, nodding with conviction at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

To be truthful, Sansa had been just as resolved on the previous morning, but ended up losing courage as the day went on. It would not happen this time around though. Oh no, it wouldn't! She could sense it, knew today was the day. It was the perfect evening to do it. Jeyne would be coming back late at night from her shift at the pool and Sandor had a special contract that required him to stay on a construction site much later than usual. She would have the evening all to herself with nothing to distract her from her task.

Just to make sure she would not back down this time around, Sansa changed her status on facelog to 'in a relationship' while she sat in the library during her pause a little after noon. A few weeks ago, Jeyne had taken a nice photo of her and Sandor over which she was sitting in his lap by the kitchen table at their apartment. Breathing in deeply, Sansa selected it as her new profile photo.

She began receiving likes and comments less than a minute later in such number that she had to put her phone on mute lest she disturbed the other students around her. While she tried hard to study like the rest of them, Sansa was nervous and it was quite difficult for her to stay focussed, especially with Miranda flooding her inbox with PMs asking her who the hells was that guy, where had she met him, how long had they been together, how old he was, how tall he was... Sansa liked Miranda very much and answered all of her questions - at first.

 _And how big is it?_ asked her last PM. _If it's proportional to the rest of him, the sex must be amazing_...

"Randa!" Sansa said aloud, frowning at her phone, only to be shushed by the librarian an instant later.

"I'm so sorry!" she mouthed, blushing deeply. And to think that she always found those who were being loud at the library so disrespectful! Gods, how embarrassing!

Shaking her head, Sansa shoved her phone into her handbag and exited the library, leaving Miranda's question unanswered.

Her last class went by very slowly and Sansa had a hard time staying attentive. Every time someone gazed at her for a second too long, she wondered if it was because they had seen her new profile picture. She was facelog friend with some of her classmates and while she had not kept her relationship with Sandor secret from anyone at school, most had never seen him. _I'm probably just being paranoid,_ Sansa mused, trying to keep her attention to what the teacher said, but failing miserably.

When she arrived home later on, Sansa ate a light meal – some soup with crackers and cheese – and went to her bedroom. She shut the door behind her in case Jeyne returned from the pool earlier than planned. Now was the time to do it, she decided, her heart hammering in her chest. Her fingers shaking, she sat down at the edge of her bed and dialled her mother's number.

"Hi, Sansa! How are you, honey?" mum's warm voice came through the receiver.

"Hi, mum. I'm doing well, what about you?" Sansa replied with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

"Ah, we've been pretty busy over here," Sansa's mother told her. They had received a convoy of Asshai'i visitors and there had been two weddings celebrated at the castle during the last month. Sansa listened in silence as mum recounted everything for her, dreading the moment where she would have to share her own news.

"We had a violent snowstorm last night, but today, the weather is perfect. There's snow everywhere, it's so beautiful."

"I'm sure it's very pretty," Sansa agreed.

"Are you going to come and see it for yourself during your half term break? We could buy you your ticket this evening."

"No... Sorry, mum, but I have something else planned," Sansa announced reluctantly. _Here it comes,_ she reflected with apprehension, biting at her lip.

"Oh, so you're going to go to the Dornish beaches with the other students after all?" Though her mother tried to hide it, Sansa heard the disappointment in her voice and she felt a tad guilty for it. "I hope you'll be careful, I've heard all sort of things, stories of youngsters drinking too much and even taking drugs at the big parties there are everywhere on the gold coast at that time of the year. I do trust you, Sansa, but you should never leave your drink unattended. And be sure to never go anywhere on your own. Is Jeyne coming with you?"

Sansa had indeed told her mother she might go to Dorn with some friends: a little white lie which had allowed her to postpone buying her plane ticket, however now, time to reveal the truth had come. "No... I won't go to Dorn after all. I'll go to the Summer Isles, with my... my boyfriend. He has never travelled outside of Westeros. I convinced him we should go."

"That sounds lovely, but a new boyfriend? You didn't tell me about this, Sansa!" Mum was obviously taken aback and also, a bit wounded that Sansa was keeping things from her. In the past, she had always told her everything about her life.

"Yeah, sorry..." Sansa said sheepishly. "I thought it best to wait a little to announce it to you."

"Alright then. What's his name?"

"Sandor," Sansa breathed.

"Sandor? That's a Westerlander name, is it? Is that where he's from?"

"Yes, he grew up just outside of Lannisport," Sansa answered, wringing her clammy hands.

"Did you meet him at school?"

Wincing as if in pain, Sansa gazed down at her lap in distress. She didn't like where the conversation was going, but did she have a choice? This needed to be done. "No, he's my friend Margaery's upstairs neighbour. He's an electrician."

"He's not a student?" mum asked, her tone suddenly much harder.

"No." Sensing her mother's disquiet, Sansa hurried to add: "He's self-employed and quite successful, you know! Works all the time! Took me a lot of convincing to have him agree to take a week off."

That didn't seem to reassure her. "How old is he, Sansa?" she demanded sternly.

Sansa wanted to disappear from the surface of Westeros. "He's a bit older…"

"Of how much?"

Mum was losing patience, Sansa could tell. She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. "He's thirty four…"

" _Thirty four?!"_ she all but yelled, the shock in her voice unmistakable.

Sansa bit at her lip and shut her eyes. _Oh, Seven help me..._

"Sansa, that's not _a bit_ older. Thirty four! You're just eighteen, Sansa! That man is twice your age!"

"He's not twice my age, otherwise he would be thirty six!" Sansa pointed out.

"Same difference, Sansa! This is not... this is not a good relationship for you," mum stated, her voice shaking.

"How can you say that? You don't even know him! You didn't even give me a chance to speak of him!" Sansa pleaded.

"Honestly, Sansa, I don't think there'd be anything you could tell me about him that would make this okay with me. You're too young to date a man in his thirties! And what sort of man preys on teenagers?"

"Mum! I'm eighteen! I'm an adult!" Sansa cried out, offended.

"Barely. But a year ago, I would've called the police on him," the woman said with unhidden loathing. "You're too young for him, Sansa! What does that say about his level of maturity? Why is he not dating women his age?"

"He never dated someone as young as me before. It's not like he was looking for that," Sansa insisted. "And he did not _prey_ on me! We crossed path and fell in love, that's all."

"How do you know he never has? He could've been with a different teenage girl every week for the last year and you wouldn't be the wiser," mum spat, unconvinced.

"He told me. I trust him, mum! He would never lie to me!"

From the long sigh she heaved, there was no doubting the trust Sansa had in Sandor didn't weight much in her eyes. "So, how long have you been together?"

"A little over four months."

"Since before Sevenmas?" mum demanded, taken aback.

"Yeah, we met at a Strangerween party." Heat rose to Sansa's face as she remembered the context in which it had happened. Thankfully, her mother would never have to learn of it. That she and Sandor had had sex only a couple of hours after having met was not something she ever intended to reveal to her or dad.

"You didn't tell me," she reproached.

"I knew you wouldn't like it. Have you seen how you've reacted? But I swear it, mum, Sandor is the perfect boyfriend! He's so good to me, always so kind and considerate."

Sansa's mother exhaled loudly. "Do you have sex with him?" she inquired wearily.

"Mum! He's my boyfriend!" Sansa blurted out, her eyes grown wide in embarrassment.

There was a grunt at the other end of the line. "You use condoms at least?"

"Of course!" Sansa lied, her face burning hot. There was a moment of awkward silence between them, but before her mother had a chance to say another word, Sansa abruptly changed the subject. "He makes me so happy, mum," she said. "I've never thought anyone could be so attentive to my every wish. He spoils me rotten! And he's so funny! I swear, he makes me laugh all the time. There's never an instant where I'm bored when I'm with him."

While mum was clearly sceptic, she let Sansa tell her all about how wonderful Sandor was for a few more minutes without interrupting her too much, until she was notified by a text that a group of guesses had just arrived.

"I'll call you later tonight. We still need to talk about this, Sansa. This conversation is far from over!" she informed her firmly.

While Sansa was relieved, she knew the worst was to come. And indeed, two hours later, she received a phone call from her mother. Somehow, her instinct told her it was best that she didn't answer. It took her a good twenty minutes to gather enough courage to listen to the message she had left her. By then, mum had already sent her two texts and tried to reach her again once.

"Sansa! I saw your new profile photo on facelog. I hope that man you're with on it is not really that _Sandor_ you told me about." She let out a long desperate sigh. "But of course it's him. You wouldn't sit on just anyone's lap… Sansa! Who is that man? You cannot keep seeing him!" she implored. There was a pause then and when mum resumed speaking, she sounded like she was on the verge of tears. "By the Seven, Sansa, I'm so confused... This just doesn't make any sense! It's not like you to be so rash; you've always been such a good and sensible girl. I don't understand what has gotten into you."

Sansa barely listened to the rest of the message. Her mother was frantic and it broke her heart to think that it was Sandor's appearance that compelled her to react so. She couldn't imagine how hard his life must have been, and still was, if people could judge him so easily for it. Of course, Sansa was certain that her mother would have been less distraught had he been eighteen like her instead of thirty four, but there was no doubting that even as a young man, he would have been an intimidating sight with his size and scars and that she would not have been very pleased with her choice.

Tears filling her eyes, Sansa erase her mother's message and threw herself onto her bed. When mum called again a few minutes later, she didn't pick up, too troubled to speak to her so soon. She just lay there, on her back over her bed, and stared at the ceiling, thinking of nothing.

But then eventually, her phone rang again and this time, it was her father's number that appeared on her the screen. Sansa wanted to die on the spot, but she answered anyway, resigned to her fate. "Hi daddy," she said, her voice as small as a child's and falsely enthusiastic. "How are you?"

Her father ignored her question. "Sansa, your mother has told me about... about this new relationship of yours," he started darkly. "This is not acceptable. At your age, with a man so much older. And neither your mother nor I like the look of him. He seems... unsavoury."

Once more, Sansa was hurt by such a hasty rejection. "But, dad, that's not fair! You've always taught me not to judge a book by its cover! It's true Sandor's appearance is... out of the ordinary, but it's not his fault!"

"I have a hard time believing that, Sansa. A man doesn't get that muscled by accident. What is he? Some sort of bodybuilder?"

"He is very much in shape indeed! He likes to train, but isn't it a good thing? You're the one who's always encouraged us to be active and practice sports. Sandor _is_ very active – I never met anyone as fit as him! - and I've been going to the gym more often thanks to him. He's been an excellent influence for me!"

Dad exhaled loudly, clearly unimpressed. "Sansa, what are those... those scars he has?"

A wave of sadness flew over Sansa at that, mixed in with a bit of anger as well. "He had an accident when he was just a child, a horrible one involving fire! You have no idea how much he suffered! After all he had to go through because of them, judging him for his burns would be super cruel!"

Daddy grunted. "Perhaps, but it's no matter. This man is no good for you, end of the story! You're too young. How do you know he's not being deceitful and manipulating you? There's too much of an imbalance in this relationship for you to ever be his equal. You think he doesn't know that?"

"He's not manipulating me! Sandor is the nicest boyfriend I could ever wish for! Way better than Harry ever was!" Sansa returned stubbornly. "He treats me like a princess, gives me so much attention, like I'm all that matters to him! He calls me all the time, gives me rides whenever I need it! And he keeps buying me presents too! He has even paid for my plane ticket for the Summer Isles!"

"Well you see, Sansa, that's exactly how some abusive men do it, I've heard. They start by luring their victim with gifts and pretend like they are smitten... until they start asking _favours_ from the girl in question and then, the next thing you know, they start beating her and sending her to the streets to-"

"Daddy! Sandor would never, _ever_ hurt me! _He_ _loves me_!" Sansa let out in outrage.

"Really?" He paused and she could almost see his expression of dismay. "You're too young and innocent, Sansa," he added dryly. "Your word alone is not enough to convince me that this relationship has the potential to be healthy. I have a hard time believing that a man so much older can genuinely love a girl of your age. To me, the bastard's no more than a blasted predator."

Though Sansa had predicted her parents would be against her and Sandor, she was still incredibly upset to hear her father speak of him so harshly. He sounded furious and had even cursed - something which he very rarely did!

Tears went rolling down Sansa's cheeks and she could sense sobs threatening to escape her throat. "You're wrong!" she yelled, before pressing on the End button on an impulse and tossing her phone at the other end of her bed.

Raising both her hands to her face, she burst out crying. She felt horrible. Never before had Sansa hung up on neither of her parents and she had barely ever disobeyed them at all throughout her life. She hated displeasing them, had always done all she could to avoid conflict, though it had never been hard. Sansa was no rebel like her sister Arya and took great pleasure in making her parents proud. Still today, she felt like she had had no choice. This conflict could _not_ be avoided. She _had_ to stand her ground; it was that or leaving Sandor and that was totally out of the question. They were meant for each other! Sansa knew that sounded corny, yet she was convinced they were soul mates... Her parents would need to accept him! They had to, though at the moment, it was hard to believe it might ever happen.

Throughout the following hours, Sansa received a few other texts from her mother, but she didn't even bother to read them. At one point, her phone rang again and Sansa glanced at it apprehensively. Her heart jumping in her chest, she answered at once when she saw it was Sandor.

"Hi, princess. I'm done. Want me to pick you up?" he said, his gravelly voice so very comforting to her ears.

"Oh yes, Sandor, please!" she all but begged.

"What's wrong? Have you been crying?" he asked in sudden worry.

"I have..."Sansa admitted. "Sandor... I've told my parents about you."

"Fuck..." he rasped. "Well… I guess you had to tell them at some point, didn't you?"

"Yes," Sansa agreed, smiling. "And I don't regret doing it. I just wished they had reacted differently."

Sandor snorted. "Honestly, princess, cannot pretend like I had any hope they wouldn't freak the hells out. I'm coming now. Be ready to meet me downstairs in ten minutes."

Later on after they had arrived at his apartment, Sansa told Sandor all about the conversations she had had with her parents. They were both lying on the couch, Sandor on his back and Sansa on her stomach over him.

Sandor exhaled deeply, stroking her hair. "Can't blame them for reacting the way they did, really. They wouldn't be good parents not to worry about this. A fucking beast like me, dating their sweet and innocent eighteen years old daughter. They must take me for a bloody pervert." He barked a rough, tired laugh. Then, eying her slyly, he added: "And honestly, they're probably right about this. At my age, going after fresh meat like you." With that, he grabbed her butt firmly with both hands and bit at her neck.

"Sandor! Don't say that!" Sansa cried, trying to push his hands away. Against her better judgment, she burst out giggling. He always knew how to make her laugh!

On the following day, Sansa received a text from Arya.

 _The parents are freaking out! Gods! You're lucky not to be here! They'd kill you!_ With that, Arya had added an emoticon sporting an evil grin.

"Seven help me!" Sansa said aloud as she read it during her morning class.

Her impromptu reaction won her a few curious glances from her classmates. A mad blush creeping on her cheeks, Sansa smiled at them timidly and looked away. Oh gods, she was forgetting herself again! She had better be more careful. She hated disturbing the class like that.

When later on in the afternoon, her mother called her after she had returned home, Sansa decided she couldn't keep ignoring her forever.

"Sweetie," mum started, her tone gentle and motherly. "You may think your father and I have been harsh with you yesterday, but that's just because we're worrying about you. We love you very much and only want what's best for you."

"I know that, mum. I've never thought otherwise," Sansa told her even as she sat down on the couch in her living room.

"You may be an adult, but you're still very young and you'll always be our little girl anyway. We don't want you to do anything you'll regret later on."

"Of course," Sansa agreed. "But I'll never regret dating Sandor, mum! I love him so much!"

Mum had the grace not to comment on that. Sansa knew she must believe her love for Sandor to be no more than some childish infatuation. If only she could make her see just how genuine and deep it was! "By the way, you didn't tell me what his last name was when we spoke yesterday?" the older woman asked instead.

Sansa grew silent for an instant as she considered her mother's demand. "I'd rather not tell you for now."

"Why not? Is there anything you wish to hide from me and dad?"

"No, that's not it," Sansa said, though there were in fact quite a few things about Sandor she'd rather they didn't find out about. "I just don't want you to try to reach him! I can tell you'd go through King's Landing's telephone directory or something of the sort."

"Why wouldn't you want me to talk to him?" mum asked with a hint of irritation.

"I don't think you'd be very kind to him. You'd probably just tell him he should leave me!"

"With good reasons. At his age, it makes no sense!" she snapped.

Sansa frowned to herself. "Love knows no age."

"That's what they say. Still, it doesn't make a relationship like yours with that Sandor of yours any more acceptable. If you had been older, twenty five or twenty six perhaps, your age difference might have been a bit more appropriate, but how it is, you're too young and inexperienced." She paused and when she spoke again, mum had her most authoritative voice, the one she always used when she had had enough and wanted to be obeyed. "Sansa, what's his family name? A mother ought to know who her daughter is dating."

"I've not changed my mind, mum! I won't tell you!" Sansa informed her with resolve.

Yet mum was not deterred and kept insisting, so much so that Sansa had no choice but to hang up once more. She was unsettled and very emotional afterwards. This new dynamic she had with her parents was not fun at all.

On the following day, Sansa kept receiving phone calls from both her mother and father. She didn't feel like talking to them, but eventually figured it was best that she answered anyway.

"Sansa!" her mother exclaimed after she had picked up the phone. By the echo in her voice, she could tell she was on speaker mode. "Sansa, I managed to track down that so-called boyfriend of yours. Sandor Clegane. That's his whole name."

Sansa's heart skipped a beat. "How did you do it?"

"I searched through the list of practicing master electricians there is on the Electrical Association of Westeros' site. Sandor is not a very common first name, especially in King's Landing, it seems. He was the only one."

"Oh," Sansa whispered, feeling the colour drain from her face.

"I knew I had the right guy when I searched for his name on the internet and I saw all those pictures of him."

"Which ones?" Sansa asked in utter dread.

"Those of him fighting. The Hound, that's how he's called in the MMA world. And he named his company after his moniker."

"Damned Westerlander," Sansa heard her father mutter. Oh gods, he was there too? This was a real nightmare.

"We don't like it, Sansa. That Sandor seems like a violent man," mum added.

"He _is_ not! Ultimate fighting is just a sport!" Sansa reposted. "And he doesn't even practice it anymore. He has stopped about four years ago."

"A sport perhaps, but a very brutal one!" dad hammered home. "That he stopped doesn't reassure me in the least. If he had a taste for something as gratuitously violent once, he probably still has it now."

"You're wrong!" Sansa let out in affront. "What about Arya then? Why did you allow her to start practicing karate? It's a combat sport as well!"

"Karate is not as violent. It's an art form, good to learn patience and discipline, both of which your sister is in dire need of," dad stated firmly.

"Extreme fighting requires a lot of discipline too! Sandor used to train hours every day and he had to lift weights daily as well in order to build muscle."

"To which he obviously succeeded," Sansa's mother remarked flatly. "Still, the point is not to decide whether or not extreme fighting is a worthwhile sport to take on. All we want is for you to realise that this man is no good frequentation for you. There may be things about his past he has not told you about..." She hesitated. "Sansa... I found out there's this convicted serial killer that had the same last name as him," she revealed, her voice lower and filled with concern. "One that bears a lot of resemblance to him."

 _Oh, by the Seven!_ Sansa mused in consternation. This was pretty much the worst case scenario she could ever have imagined taking form in real life. What was Sansa to do? She'd have rather never have to tell her parents about Sandor's horrible brother, yet lying was no viable option either. They were bound to find out the truth if they kept digging into his past.

"I know. It's his brother, Sandor never tried to hide it from me."

"His brother?" daddy roared. "Sansa, I thought you had better judgement than that! I cannot believe you're still seeing that man even after having learned of this!"

"You cannot judge him for his brother's crime! That's not fair at all! He suffered at his brother's hands too you know! In fact, he was his first victim. The burns he has on his face... it was not an accident. It was his brother who gave them to him."

"That's unfortunate," dad said, though he didn't truly seem to care. "I don't doubt growing up with a future serial killer must have been... unpleasant, still this doesn't change that this relationship is unacceptable. Sansa, as your father I'm asking you to stop seeing that man."

Her eyes grown wide with anger and disappointment both, Sansa stood from the couch, her hands closed in tight fists. "I won't! You can't force me! I'm an adult, dad, and I love Sandor!"

"You may be an adult, but you're still my child. I think I can demand such a thing from you."

"Then I won't obey," Sansa told him with no hesitation whatsoever.

"You're forgetting who's providing for you, Sansa. If you don't stop seeing that man immediately, I'll cut your allowance, cancel your credit card and stop paying your rent."

"Ned!" Sansa's mother reproached.

"We have no choice, Cat. I won't change my mind about this."

Sansa was getting dizzy now and she sat back into the couch. Her hands were shaking, her eyes pricking. With her father's threats, it was as if her whole world had been shattered to pieces in a heartbeat. How would she go on if she had no income? "Daddy! Don't do this, please!" she begged him.

"Promise me you'll cut ties with him and I won't."

"But I can't! We love each other, dad!" Sansa said, tears welling in her eyes. Sobs were starting to shake her now, but she bit hard at her bottom lip in order to keep it all in.

"Yes you can, Sansa. You'll forget him soon enough. This man has nothing to offer you."

Unable to hear her father speak so poorly of the man of her life an instant longer, Sansa hung up at once. She immediately began crying loudly and let herself fall sideway onto the couch.

"No... what am I going to do?..." she mumbled even as she pressed her hands against her very wet face.

Then without thinking it over, she stood up, put on her coat and ran to Sandor's place. As she strode through the busy streets, she could feel people staring at her. That she had been crying was unmistakable - she must look a complete mess! – yet she couldn't find it in her to care. Not after what had just happened.

When she finally arrived to Sandor's apartment, Sansa jumped in his arms, her sobs resuming. He had only just arrived from work, judging from the dark blue coverall he still wore and seemed very confused.

"Sansa, what in the Seven buggering Hells has happened? You alright?" he hissed in alarm, laying protective hands on her shoulder blades.

"Oh, Sandor! It's my parents! They managed to learn everything about you! My mother found out what your last name is! She managed to track you down on the Electrical Association of Westeros' internet site! And now they both know about your past as a fighter and worse of all, they have found out about your _brother_!"

His hands growing stiff over her, Sandor blanched. "Shit," he breathed.

"Sandor! I don't know what to do! My father has threatened to stop providing for me if I keep seeing you! He says he'll cancel my credit card, stop paying my rent... Jeyne can't pay both of our shares! What will she do if I can't pay?" With that, her sobs grew all the louder. Pushing her face against Sandor's broad chest, she clutched at the front of his overall, its fabric wet with her tears. "Oh, and I don't want to stop seeing you! I love you so much! But how will I go on if I don't have an income?"

With strong yet gentle hands, Sandor stroked her back and hair. "You just have to come live with me, Sansa. I won't ask a penny from you. I'll even give you some pocket money so that you don't have to get a job. I earn enough for the two of us."

Sansa gazed up at him in surprise, her eyes shining with tears. "Really, Sandor? You would do that for me?" she asked, infinitely touched. "But I... I don't know if I can say yes to that. I could find myself a job. Why couldn't I work like some of my college friends do? I would probably need to take fewer classes next semester in order to keep my grades up, yet I could make it. It would be hard at first of course. I've always been so privileged, so sheltered-"

"Stop right there, princess. I'll have none of that," Sandor cut her with a hint of annoyance. "Yes, you've been as sheltered as can be, but I love you like that and I don't see any bloody reason to change it. Not when you have me to look after you." Then he furrowed his brow and brought his hands on her shoulders. "If you think I'll let you quit classes in order to make place for a job, you're gravelly mistaken, little bird. Not under my watch. My apartment is big enough for the two of us and I'll happily provide for you. Nothing needs change for you where school is concerned. I told you I'd pay for everything, didn't I? Why refuse? I'd be the happiest man alive to have you move in with me."

"Oh, Sandor..." Sansa started, moved. "Thank you so much, but it's... it's too generous. I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you."

At hearing her claim, Sandor threw his head back, laughing that rough laugh of his. "If only your parents could hear you! I wonder what they'd think of that: their little girl, taking advantage of the big, bad wolf." Then, laying his gaze on her again, he added: "Don't be stubborn, Sansa. You know I mean it. Actually, I'm really looking forward to you moving in with me – well that is, if you agree of course. I want to be with you all the fucking time. Us living together, it just makes so much sense to me. Say yes. Or do you want me to beg you on my knees? I'll do it if that's what you want."

It was her turn to laugh. "Alright, alright! No need for that!" Sansa said, giggling. "Yes, I'll come live with you."

Sandor grinned at her, clearly very pleased.

"But, Sandor, you know, I do have some money aside. I could use it to pay for my next year's tuition. And I could give you some of it for the rent and food and-"

Sandor frowned at her and shook his head. "Didn't you hear what I said before? I don't want your savings. Pay for your school with them if you want, but I'll take care of everything else. Understood?"

Looking him passionately in the eyes, Sansa nodded and smiled at him, feeling her heart swell with all the love she had for him. "Oh, Sandor! You're the best boyfriend I could ever dream of having," she told him before she kissed him on the mouth. And to think that her parents believed him to be no more than a predator that would end up abusing her in the most horrid ways possible. How wrong they were!

After they had parted lips, Sansa grew concerned once again. "What about Jeyne though? What will she do?"

"She can find another roommate to take your place. I don't think it'll be hard for her to find someone; you've a nice apartment. You can even help her in her search if it helps you feel less guilty about this."

Sansa beamed at him. "You're right. That's what I'll do. Oh, but, Sandor! There's something else," she said, suddenly nervous. "Please don't answer your phone from now on if you receive a call from a northern number. It will probably be one of my parents. I'd rather you don't speak to them - not at this point."

Sandor snorted and gave her a wry half smile. "Yeah, I think I'd rather not speak to them either," he agreed.

* * *

On the following day, Sansa was packing books in her very first moving box just after having come back home after school when her phone rang. It was her mother. She wavered, but ended up taking the call. She might as well inform her right away that she was moving in with Sandor.

"Thanks the Heavens, Sansa. I was afraid you wouldn't answer. I really need to talk to you," mum exclaimed from the moment she picked up.

"Yeah, well there's something I need to tell you as well," Sansa announced timidly.

At that, mum let out a long, despondent sigh. "I hope it's not what I think... You're not moving in with _him_ , are you?"

Sansa blushed. "How did you know?"

"Oh, by the holy Mother! It's not as if it was hard to guess! Your father and his threats!" she said, the words sounding like curses. "He may have been well intended, but that was still foolish of him. I feared you might do something like that from the moment he spoke them. Thankfully, I've been able to make him see sense. He has changed his mind, Sansa. He won't make good of his threats, no matter what he said yesterday."

"Really?" Sansa asked in disbelief. "Why? I won't stop seeing Sandor, I told you already!"

"I know that," mum replied, resigned. "And I still wished you would be reasonable and change your mind just like your father did, yet it's obvious to me that cutting your allowance would only push you further into that man's clutches and increase his influence on you. It's a horrible idea. That Sandor of yours could take advantage of how vulnerable being penniless would make you. I don't want you to become totally dependent on him. At least, so long as you live apart, you have a place to go to if something happens and Jeyne can keep an eye on you. She promised me that she would watch over you and alert me if ever she suspected things were not going well between the two of you."

"You've talked to Jeyne?" Sansa said, taken aback.

"I have. I called her this morning and we ended up chatting for a good twenty minutes." She paused and then added with some reluctance: "I have to admit she did reassure me."

"She did?" Sansa breathed, hopeful despite herself.

"Yes. She told me you seemed... very happy with Sandor," mum replied, though it seemed to cost her to say as much. "And she admitted that she had not liked him very much herself at first too and feared he wouldn't treat you well, yet that she had come to appreciate him and to realise he was a good person in spite of the appearances. She told me he was always very nice to you from what she could tell. She insisted I didn't have to worry and that coming to King's Landing was unnecessary."

"Coming to King's Landing?" Sansa repeated, the pace of her pulse hastening.

"I was considering it and told her about it, though we've been very busy here at the castle for these past weeks. I just thought that perhaps if I could talk to you in person, it would be easier to convince you to put a stop to this relationship."

"It wouldn't have worked! Nothing will convince me to leave Sandor!" Sansa let out obstinately.

"Jeyne told me as much," mum said grimly. "She said that she has never seen you so in love. I figured that to keep fighting would only increase your resolve. Better not to try to tear you apart if it's only to have the opposite effect to the one I intend."

Sansa could barely believe what she was hearing. "So this is it? You're not going to object to me dating Sandor anymore?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far. Your father and I are far from okay with this. But it seems like we'll have to tolerate it or risk pushing you straight into disaster. So yes, we won't fight it for the time being. Yet, Sansa, please, I want you to promise me that you won't move in with him. It's the condition we have for our tolerance. It's that, or I'll be jumping in the next plane to King's Landing, no matter how busy we are over here at the moment."

Sansa hesitated, her heart hammering in her chest. "And I'll get to keep my allowance?"

"As I told you."

By the Maiden, was Sansa dreaming? This was all too good to be true. The turn of event was astounding her so much, she was rendered speechless for a moment. "Oh, thank you, mummy... Thank you so very much!" she told her eventually. "I'll… I'll do as you ask and not move in with him if that's what you want then."

"That's very good to hear, honey," mum said, her voice a little less tense now. "Be careful, Sansa. We keep in touch, I gotta go now."

"Love you, mummy!" Sansa exclaimed before she hung up. She was grinning so much, her cheeks ached.

When a little later in the afternoon, Jeyne arrived home, Sansa ran to her and threw her arms around her. "Thank you, Jeyne!"

"For what?" the other girl squeaked.

"For having told my mother that she didn't need to come to King's Landing and that Sandor was a good boyfriend! Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!" With that, she hugged her so tightly that Jeyne yelped.

"Oh, you're welcome of course. I only told her the truth. She's really worried about you, you know, but I promised her I would watch over you. Sandor has better behave!"

"Don't be silly! He will, of course!" Sansa said before kissing Jeyne on the cheek.

Not so long after, Sansa left for Sandor's apartment. She had told him she would meet him there later in the evening, but she simply couldn't wait an instant longer to share the good news with him and thus left earlier than planned. As she walked to his place, she was so excited and kept skipping and giggling like a child. Yes it was true, she would have very much loved to move in with Sandor, however, the fact that her parents had agreed to tolerate their relationship easily overshadowed her disappointment in that matter.

When Sansa arrived at his apartment building, she hurried up the stairs and opened the door at once. "Sandor!" she cried out, a huge smile on her lips.

"Little bird," he replied tiredly.

Sansa scanned the place, searching for him. He was sprawled over the couch, still in his dark blue coverall, looking exhausted. That surprised her. Sandor never stayed in his work clothes for very long after he had arrived home and did not start relaxing until he had taken a shower. "Are you okay, Sandor?"

He breathed in deeply. "I guess..."

"What's wrong?"

"Just spoke to your mother on the phone. For a while. Wasn't so nice..."

Her mouth agape, Sansa stood by the threshold and stared at him, immobile. By the Seven... Had mum called the whole of King's Landing today? She sure had not been idle. "Really?" she whispered uneasily. "But, Sandor, why did you pick up? Didn't you see the phone call was from the North?"

"I answered without checking…" he rasped.

"Oh…" Sansa didn't know what else to say. She was gobsmacked even as her mind was spinning at a thousand miles an hour.

"Guess you won't come live with me after all."

"She told you?"she murmured.

"Yeah," he said, massaging the bridge of his nose. "That and a whole lot of other things."

"She didn't scream at you, didn't she?" Sansa asked, unsure she really wanted know.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, thankfully. But she made it clear what she thought of our relationship and of men like me who go after barely legal girls. I told her that I love you and that your age don't have a thing to do with it, but she laughed it off. It was clear I was not about to convince her I wasn't the creeper she took me for. I didn't even try, I've no time to lose."

"What else did she tell you?"

"That I was better never to hurt you or else she would kill me herself. I told her that I would rather die than to hurt you so that she didn't need to fret. In the end she reluctantly admitted that she had agreed to tolerate us seeing each other for the time being since she was unable to bring you to your senses, but only so long as you kept your apartment with Jeyne. I was not about to complain. I mean, this is as good a truce as we can hope for at this point. I promised I wouldn't try to sway you to reconsider your decision..."

Sansa stayed silent for about a minute or so, taking it all in. So many things had happened in so little time. "I'm sad she wasn't nice to you. I'm sure one day, she'll come to appreciate you. Just give her some time."

While he was clearly sceptical, Sandor didn't contradict her and only gestured for her to come and sit on his lap. Sansa gladly obliged and embraced him, her previous smile returning to her face.

"I'm so happy, Sandor!" she said after a moment. "Things have turned out so much better than I had envisioned! From yesterday evening up until just a couple of hours ago, I was agonising over the thought of perhaps having to cut ties with my parents for a little while, yet now all of a sudden, everything is fine and we'll be able to leave for the Summer Isles next week with peace of mind. I couldn't have asked for a better outcome!"

"Yeah, everything turned out perfectly..." Sandor agreed unenthusiastically. He sighed deeply, same as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Apart for this dirty, old dog," he rasped, staring at the ceiling. "I was looking forward to you moving in with me so bloody much..."

"Sandor, don't be sad!" Sansa scolded him gently. "I'm already more often at your place than at mine as it is anyway! I have my space in your closet and your bathroom is filled with more of my stuff than yours. It's not as if it would have changed much in the end. And I promise I'll move in with you once my parents have met you and come to accept you in truth." With that, she kissed him on the cheek.

Snorting, Sandor gazed at her and raised a hand to caress her hair, the movement sluggish. "Not sure that'll ever happen, little bird. If you wait after that, you may never leave your bloody apartment and then, move back with your parents once you've finished college."

"Don't say that, Sandor! You're being too negative. I'm sure my parent will come to love you!" Sansa assured him. "Just give them some time to adjust." With that, she hugged him again. It may take a few years, but Sansa did believe her previous words. How could anyone not love Sandor once they knew him as well as she did after all?


	21. Chapter 21

"Oh, wow! How beautiful!" Margaery exclaimed, her eyes shining with interest.

In a perfectly manicured hand, she was holding Sansa's phone and looking at a picture of the beach nearest to the bungalow Sansa and Sandor had rented during the midterm break. It was striking indeed with its white sand, turquoise water and tall palm trees. Sansa couldn't help but grin as she remembered how much she had loved the place.

"I've never visited that specific island of the Summer's Isles. Maybe I should go after I graduate," Margaery added, glancing at Sansa. They had just returned from school and were both sitting by the dining table in Sandor's apartment. In the background, hushed music was playing on the small radio that sat on the counter.

"You absolutely should! It is indeed very beautiful. More savage than the rest of the country," Sansa said enthusiastically.

Margaery flipped her finger on the screen to see the next picture. It was one of Sansa wearing a royal blue bikini with a straw floppy hat, sitting over Sandor's shoulder and reaching for a coconut in a palm tree. A passerby had taken it for them and Sansa loved it so much that it was now her desktop's background photo on her laptop.

"Well, that's certainly convenient," Margaery commented before flipping to the next picture.

"Indeed! I love having such a tall guy around. It can be very handy!" Sansa agreed, giggling.

"Has Sandor enjoyed his trip?" the other girl asked, gazing up from the phone. "You did tell me it was his first time on the Isles and that he was reluctant to go at first."

"It's not that he didn't want to go, but simply that he was worrying because of his job. Thankfully, he managed to reschedule all of his engagements pretty easily. And he didn't regret his decision - not at all in fact! The bungalow we rented was so pretty and comfy and the nature surrounding it was unbelievingly gorgeous! It was the first time in years that Sandor allowed himself some true rest and it certainly did him some good. I learned that he is quite a good swimmer and sometimes, I was even honestly _terrified_ for him when he went too far into the waves! On one occasion I couldn't see him anymore and I was freaking out! When he finally came back and I told him how much I had worried about it, he only laughed at me, as if I was being ridiculous!" Sansa recalled, her frustration revived all over again.

Margaery rolled her eyes. " _Men_ ," she said exasperatedly.

Sansa smiled, glad to see her friend was agreeing with her. She and Sandor had had a huge fight about it on that day, their first true one in fact. It had wounded her to see how easily he could discard her concerns. He clearly did not take them seriously, as if he believed the very idea that he could ever drown was absurd and yet, he was so very wrong! No matter his strength, the ocean with its waves, currents and sharks was not just any opponent! That was probably the main weakness to being so powerful: believing you were invincible. In the end, they had reconciled - and had had _amazing_ sex afterwards! - yet Sansa did not feel as if Sandor truly regretted his actions. While it still irritated her to ponder about it, Sansa chased the memory away and changed the subject.

"Sandor also enjoyed building huge bonfires and he often went fishing on the dock, though he didn't catch anything interesting to be honest. He told me he learned to do both during the camping expeditions he went to while he stayed at the youth centre as a teenager."

"Hmm, good to know the centres are not as bad as their reputation let us believe," Margaery commented flatly. "My parents have often donated money to those centres, for your information. Glad to hear their cash was well spent."

As she spoke, she kept going from one picture to the next. At the moment, she was looking at a series of photos taken during an expedition Sansa and Sandor had gone to to the tall volcano that rose at the centre of the island.

Smiling widely, Sansa stood from her chair. "Oh, this was so much fun!" she exclaimed, gazing at the screen over her friend's shoulder. "I was beyond _exhausted_ when we arrived back to the bungalow though! Whew! Climbing up all those steep tracks was true torture, but it was well worth it. _So many beautiful views_!" With that, she headed to the fridge. "Want something to drink? I have sparking water if you'd like."

"Yeah, of course," Margaery replied, without bothering to gaze up at her.

Judging from how fast her forefinger was moving over the screen, she wasn't looking at the photos more than a second or two each, yet Sansa had taken so many that she could hardly blame her for not studying them all at length.

After having poured sparkling water in two glasses, Sansa fetched a lime in the fridge and cut it in slices over the cutting board. She was adding one in each glass when Margaery gasped loudly.

"Sansa? What...? What in the Seven Hells is _this_...?"

Her heart in her mouth, Sansa swirled around at once. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice as high-pitched as a mouse's squeak. Somehow, she had a terrible inkling her friend had found... had found... _Oh no! Please, let me be mistaken!_

Margaery's eyes were wide and the expression of shock she was sporting quickly morphed into one of wicked delight. "Oh, Sansa! This is no joke! That's one hell of a big dick! I can see why you're dating him now!" she let out, guffawing.

Raising both her hands to her mouth, Sansa strode to stand behind Margaery. "Margaery! Give me back my phone!" she demanded, utterly mortified. She went to wrench it from her hand, but the other girl moved the phone out of Sansa's reach.

"Not so fast," Margaery replied. "Let me have a good look first. Whoa, Sansa! How do you even fit it all in?"

"Oh! Shut up, Margaery!" Sansa cried in despair. Thankfully, she managed to catch the phone and pulled it from her friend's hand. From the moment she had retrieve it, she stepped away and hurried to delete the photo. Gods, why hadn't she done it before? How stupid of her! "Here! It's gone now!" Sansa announced, shoving her phone in her jeans' back pocket.

"What a pity! Well, at least now I've got my question answered. You never wanted to tell me when I asked you how big it was!" Sniggering, Margaery stood up and walked to the counter to fetch her glass of sparking water. After having taken a sip, she burst out laughing all over again. "You're the last person I would've ever pictured having dick photos on her phone! You're naughtier than I thought!"

"Please, Margaery! Stop it!" Sansa begged, her cheeks burning hot. "But what were you even doing in that folder in the first place anyway?" she continued, narrowing her eyes as irritation suddenly mingled with her embarrassment. "I didn't tell you you could go through my whole phone!"

Margaery had the grace to look at least a little apologetic. "It was not on purpose, I swear it! I was flipping from one photo to the next and then, I guess I was just automatically sent to the following folder. There were pictures of Sandor in his fighter days at first, all bloody and sweaty, and then: _boom_! A very aroused, humongous, veiny cock-"

Just at that moment, the sound of a key turning in the lock was heard, thankfully shutting Margaery up, and an instant later, Sandor was stepping in. He removed his leather jacket and put it on the coat rack in the hallway.

"Hi, girls," he rasped nonchalantly, glancing in their direction.

"Hello, Sandor," Margaery replied with a huge grin on her lips. After having taken one last sip of sparkling water, she left her glass on the counter and strolled towards him. "Oh, Sansa was right! You're as tanned as a Dornishman!" she said. Even wearing her highest heels, she seemed so very small next to him and had to crane her neck to meet his gaze.

Clearly unsure what to think, Sandor frowned at her, but when his eyes darted to Sansa and he saw how flushed she was, his features set into a suspicious scowl. "What have you two been up to?" he asked, his voice very husky.

"Sansa was showing me some very interesting photos... of your trip to the Summer's Isles. Such impressive landscapes! Everything is oversize: the mountains, the beaches, the fauna and flora... Impressive! You have to see it to believe it!" With that, she flashed a sly smile at Sansa and headed to the door. "Well, I guess I'll leave you two lovebirds now. Loras will be waiting for me. I promised to help him prepare supper tonight," she said, winking at Sansa before shutting the door behind herself.

"What was that about, Sansa?" Sandor asked once the sound of Margaery's footsteps had receded. He approached her until he had her backed against the kitchen counter.

"Nothing..." Sansa whispered, but at seeing Sandor's expression, she could tell he would not let it go so easily. "I mean, _nothing of importance_. Margaery and I were just looking at pictures from our trip and she was... telling me all about the latest gossips," she said, averting her eyes and blushing all the more. Sansa hated lying and was well aware she was horrible at it, but a girl had to do what she had to do. "You interrupted us while she was sharing some... very spicy story with me. You know the kind! I'd rather not repeat it to you!"

Then, biting at her lower lip, Sansa hesitantly peeked up at him. It was a credible story enough and she noted with relief that Sandor barely seemed to doubt it. Before he could ask any more questions though, she extricated herself from him and strode to the radio to turn up the volume.

"Oh, I love that new song! Have you heard it yet, Sandor?" she asked.

"Hmm, not sure. Sounds same as all that other shit that plays on the radio to me," he rasped, turning around to look at her through narrowed eyes.

"Oh, no! You're mistaken, listen to it," Sansa told him.

It was her luck that the song was good indeed, very rhythmic and rousing. Just to make sure Sandor was well and truly distracted, she cranked up the volume even more and started dancing by the dining table. Her stratagem seemed to work. From his place leaned against the counter, Sandor was following her with his stare, his lips slowly curling in a smirk.

"Fuck, princess, but you dance so bloody well. That's even the first thing I've noticed when I stepped into the Tyrells' Strangerween party. Well, that and how beautiful you were. I liked your ass too, I won't lie, and that nice pair of tits you have on you..."

For some reason, Sansa liked it when he was being crude in his compliments. Beaming at him, she swirled around and the next thing she knew, Sandor had rejoined her by the table. Grasping her hand in his, he made her whirl before him and then all but threw her in the air. He caught her easily and they laughed as they spun together on the music. As the song ended, he seized her by the waist and made her dip back until her head hung in the air. Panting, Sansa straightened her back and laid her palms on his chest for balance as the commercial break started.

"Sandor! That was _amazing_!" she let out with a grin on her lips. "You never told me you could dance so well! Have you ever taken lessons?"

His hand stiffening on her waist, Sandor looked at her like she had lost her mind. "Why in the Seven buggering Hells would I have ever done something like _that_? This was no bloody dancing - I was just fooling around."

Sansa's enthusiasm was not dampened, to the contrary. "Really? Then that's even more promising! You have potential, Sandor! Oh! I have always dreamed of taking ballroom dance lessons, only for that, I needed a partner first. But I have you now... Oh, what do you say, Sandor? It would be so wonderful!"

His features twisted in a mix of shock and infuriation, Sandor removed his hands from her waist at once. "Are you bloody crazy or what? Do I look like the kind of man who takes dancing lessons to you? No way, little bird," he hissed at her.

Sansa knitted her brow and gazed at him pleasingly. "But, Sandor! You'd be so good and this would be so much fun, something we'd do together as a couple! Athletic as you are, I see no reason why you wouldn't excel. With your training as a fighter, you'd have the discipline and coordination required without a doubt!"

Sandor's face had turned red with anger and the corner of his mouth was twitching madly. "If you think that after having quit ultimate fighting to have more time for work, I'll be taking off _ballroom_ _dancing_ , you're just out of your fucking mind, Sansa," he rasped, his voice deceivingly calm. Then, snorting, he rolled his eyes and continued. " _Dancing_ _lessons_ ," he repeated same as if he had never heard anything more absurd of his life. Pinning Sansa with his stare, he pointed a finger at her. "Get that ridiculous idea out of your pretty head right fucking now, little bird. I'm a bloody fighter, not a _dancer_. That won't ever happen."

Sansa looked up at him in silence, biting at her bottom lip. It was best that she not insist any further. For now. She knew it would be a waste of time in his present state. Sandor could be very stubborn about certain things, but she was convinced she could get him to change his mind and agree in time if she was patient and played her cards right.

Looking down, Sansa feigned defeat and nodded. "Aright, Sandor, I understand," she whispered, struggling not to smile. "Let's prepare supper. Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving," he answered, apparently satisfied with the change of subject.

Turning her back to him, Sansa headed to the fridge and allowed herself to smile as she peered inside to see what their options were. Gods, how she was looking forward to those dance lessons!

* * *

The table was filled with food and everyone was eating with appetite. The salad Sansa had prepared was delicious with its sesame oil dressing and the baby leaf lettuce, goat cheese, nuts and fresh fruits it was made of. Sandor had cooked the skewers they had prepared together earlier today in the barbeque and they were among the best ones she had ever tasted. Slices of fresh bread had been put in a basket at the centre of the table and a couple of bowls of olives had been placed on each sides of it. For desert, Sansa had baked a lemon pie, but it was still waiting in the fridge at the moment. As for the appetisers, crudités with a dipping sauce and crisps had been served while they chatted in the living room a bit earlier.

"Wow, Sansa, that salad is amazing!" Jaime complimented her after he had swallowed his first mouthful.

"It is indeed," Brienne agreed, smiling at Sansa. "You'll have to give me your dressing recipe."

"Of course," Sansa replied, pleased with herself. It was the first time she and Sandor received Jaime and Brienne at his place. So far, they had only gone on double dates to restaurants, pubs and bar and so Sansa had spent a lot of time planning this out to make sure everything was perfect.

From what Sandor had told her, Brienne hadn't been sure about her when she'd first heard about his new girlfriend. She had wondered what a man in his mid-thirties could be doing with a girl so much younger than him, believed he had gotten with her just for the sex. Thus she hadn't expected much from Sansa and had been pleasantly surprised when they were introduced a couple of months ago. They hit it off from the moment they met and were now genuine friends. They had a lot in common and Brienne loved how family oriented and focused on her studies Sansa was. As for Sansa, she admired Brienne's career and the choice she had made to be a public prosecutor when she could be making more money as a lawyer at a private firm.

As the evening went on, they ate their meal and drank wine all the while chatting of all sorts of things. First, they exchanged about the latest news and then, Brienne told them about her most current case, Sansa asking many questions. After that, Sandor spent nearly twenty minutes beefing about a guy who had recently hired him to do some wiring in his house. He was so pitiless in his insults and descriptions, almost cruel but in a hilarious way, that everyone was bent over with laughter by the time he was done.

After everyone was done eating and Sansa and Sandor had cleared the table, Jaime refilled all four glasses once again.

"Congratulation on finishing your semester with A+ grades from what I've heard," he said, lifting his glass in a toast. They all did likewise, Sansa blushing madly.

"It's not true though! I didn't have only A+'s, I got one A and an A-..." she added, a flush of warmth spreading over her face. Gods, she had drunk a little too much. She had best slow down a bit, she thought, taking another sip.

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad to me," Jaime replied before laughing heartedly.

"She's such a perfectionist," Sandor commented with hint of pride in his voice.

"Congratulation, Sansa!" Brienne told her. "You deserve it. I know how hard you worked for those grades." She took a sip of her wine and added: "So, when are you two leaving? It's coming soon isn't it?"

Losing his smile, Sandor sighed deeply. "Indeed. In just two weeks," he replied nonchalantly. By his tone, it was clear he was not looking forward to their upcoming trip.

"Oh, don't make that face, Sandor!" Sansa scolded him. "It's going to be fun! We're going to go on a road trip across Westeros!"

"Yeah, I'm fine with that part. It's the final destination of which I'm not so certain."

"What? Afraid to meet your ladylove's parents, are you?" Jaime scoffed.

Sandor shot him a sombre look. "You'd be too if you had talked with _her_."

"Your mother-in-law, I presume?" Jaime asked, his grin broadening. "I can related, though in my case, it's the father-in-law who's been a bit of pain-"

"Jaime! My father has never been anything but nice to you!" Brienne exclaimed, affronted.

"That's what you think!" he said, before recoiling as she slapped him on the arm.

Sandor let out a weak chuckle. "Hum, well in my case, I fear I'll get it twice. I mean, I don't see why Sansa's old man would like me any more than her mother." With that, he drained his glass in one long swig and set it back on the table with a resounding click.

"Sandor, don't be so dramatic. I'm sure everything will turn out just fine. And you'll love the North! It's really beautiful and peaceful, you'll see."

Sandor gave her a wan little smile. "I don't doubt it is. I may very well come to love the North indeed, but will it love _me_?" Snorting dryly, he refilled his wineglass nearly to the rim. "As for your parents, I certainly don't expect them to greet me with open arms. I'm that old pervert who's shagging their sweet young daughter, remember? I still think we should rent our own place while we're there. I don't like the idea of sleeping under the roof and eating the food of people who despise me."

"But it would make no sense, Sandor! Winterfell is enormous and I really want you to get to experience it. Besides, my parents don't despise you, it's just that they don't know you!"

"Do you really think that knowing me will make it any better?"

"Of course it will!" Sansa insisted. "When they'll see how well you treat me and how much we love each other, they'll stop believing you're taking advantage of me. They'll see for themselves this is a real relationship and that they have nothing to fear from you!"

Sandor eyed her sceptically. "Well, let's hope you're right about this, though I couldn't pretend that I'm expecting it." The corner of his lips pulling in a faint, tired smile, he put one large hand on her thigh to stroke it under the table. "Still one way or another, this has to be done and the sooner they meet me, the better. I don't want them to think that I'm trying to get away from this, that I'm not serious about you. If I can achieve one thing during that bloody week we'll be spending at your family's castle, it'll be to show your folks that I'm not going anywhere. They better get use to my ugly face because they'll be stuck with me for a while."

Beaming at him, Sansa threw her arms around him. "Yes, please don't go anywhere! I've become quite fond of that face of yours!"

Laughing, Jaime raised his glass in a toast. "Cheers to that," he said, everyone following suit.

* * *

 _Thank you to those who are still reading this story! It's soon coming to its end, there still should be three chapters before I'm able to wrap this up. To be honest, I feel like this story has become way too long, but I do intend to complete it and for that, Sandor needs to be properly introduced to the Starks. So that's what's coming. ;)_


	22. Chapter 22

_Sorry for the super long wait for this chapter. It may take a while, but I promise I'll complete this fic._

* * *

Going from King's Landing to Winterfell took them just over a week. Sandor's van was comfortable and spacious and proved to be a most adapted vehicle for a road trip. It was so roomy, they could've even slept inside of it had it been their wish, Sandor often liked to repeat, yet Sansa was glad he kept it to words and didn't insist they give it a try in truth. She much preferred the comfort of a real bed to that of a makeshift pallet on his van's floor.

Before they left, Sandor had emptied his van of most of his tools in order that there be space enough for Sansa to bring back her upright piano to King's landing as well as some of the clothing and books she had had to leave behind when she left Winterfell. She was ecstatic at the prospect, had had enough of playing on a digital piano.

All through their drive, the atmosphere was pleasant, though Sansa knew Sandor was not too thrilled about the idea of having to meet her parents at the end of it. Sansa was nervous too, but neither of them let it spoil their journey. They had a blast and the only arguments they ever had were when they couldn't agree on which music to listen to during their long hours on the road. Sansa enjoyed pop and contemporary folk music while Sandor preferred old heavy metal and so they took turns choosing the record they would put on. Often, Sandor would scoff and complain when he didn't like Sansa's music and he would do those ridiculous impressions of the singer, which she found hilarious and only pushed her to pick increasingly corny music. When Sandor's heavy metal was playing, sometimes he would tap the beat with his palms on the steering wheel and jerk his head up and down, which also made her giggle. In the end though, Sansa realised that old heavy metal wasn't as bad as she had believed. To her surprise, there were even some songs that she actually ended up genuinely liking.

There were countless tourist attractions along the King's road and Sansa and Sandor stopped to many of them on their way to Winterfell. One night was spent in a village near Gods Eye lake from where they visited the ruins of the ancient and supposedly hunted castle of Harrenhal, another at the Isle of Faces to which they took a ferry over the lake. Afterwards, they headed to The Trident National Park and sojourned at the Twins. Finally, they stopped at the Neck and went on a guided tour of the swamps where they saw lizard-lions and many different species of birds.

Halfway through the Neck, there was a change in altitude and with it, the scenery changed drastically almost instantly. All of a sudden, snow was everywhere, white and bright under the clear blue sky. Sansa was overjoyed. She had missed the North, she realised. Still, this change of scenery meant that they had almost reached their destination, that Sandor would soon meet her parents…

They spent their last night before their arrival at Winterfell at a nice little B&B near Moat Cailing and while Sandor didn't speak much, Sansa could feel how tense he was as they ate dinner at a restaurant nearby. She kissed him a lot after they had returned to their room and told him how much she loved him many times in hope that this would give him a bit more confidence. As it often happened, her affection turned him on and they ended up having torrid sex, still half clothed over the bed. They both came quickly and were in sweat and totally out of breath by the time they were done. They stayed in each other's arms after that, the room suddenly vey quiet.

"Everything will go well tomorrow, you'll see," Sansa murmured after a time. They had barely talked of their impending arrival to Winterfell of the day, as if they preferred to pretend it would not happen.

Sandor snorted. "Yeah, right," he rasped. Yawning, he stretched his arms and folded one behind his head.

"I mean it, Sandor!" Sansa insisted, propping herself on her forearm to better gaze at him.

Sighing deeply, Sandor gave her a faint half-smile. "I'm sure you do, princess, I'm just not convinced you're right. I keep remembering that conversation I had with your mother. She all but told me I was an old pervert who ought to be rotting to prison."

"Stop exaggerating! I'm sure it wasn't _that_ bad," Sansa scolded him gently. "And she'll change her mind once she meets you in truth, I'm sure about it."

Sandor eyed her doubtfully, but he didn't argue and gently caressed her hair instead. That made her smile and she leaned her head against his chest.

They rose a little after sunrise on the following day. After having made love, they showered and got dressed. Sansa insisted Sandor put on the black sweater she had given him for his nameday, for he was so handsome in it. It was also the newest piece of clothe he owned and she wanted him to look his best. Sandor did as he was asked without complaining, though he was admittedly a bit nonchalant, and after having eaten breakfast, they both left to take the road.

The three hours ride to Winterfell was almost entirely silent. Neither Sansa nor Sandor spoke much and they put the local radio on instead of listening to their music. Both of them were edgy, but Sansa forced herself to smile at Sandor whenever he gazed her way. The scenery was beautiful at least: rolling hills with densely wooded areas and frozen rivers, lakes and creeks. Sansa was proud to see Sandor glance around himself with interest. She could tell he liked what he saw.

Eventually, they entered Winter Town's territory, as a large wooden sign with carved wolves and conifers announced by the side of the road. From there, the forest gradually became less dense, giving place to an increasing number of houses which were built on smaller and smaller lots. Soon, they were in the heart of town and traffic started to slow them down, though this was of course nothing against King's Landing nightmarish hold-ups. It even had its bright side as it allowed Sansa to point out to Sandor the important buildings they passed by, like the schools she went to, the Sept, university and City Hall, and to tell him about the different neighbourhoods they went through.

Winterfell was at the northern edge of town, however, its intimidating figure could be seen looming above the city a good ten minutes drive before one reached its gates. As they approached it, Sansa wondered what Sandor's impression of it was.

"Impressive," was his only comment when they first began to discern it.

The castles' dark stones were clean and the thick walls that surrounded it well maintained, yet its great age was unmistakable. There was something a bit austere about its appearance, Sansa had even heard people refer to it as _lugubrious_ , though she didn't agree with the latter at all. Those who said as much clearly didn't know Winterfell very well, for it was a warm and welcoming place where anyone would feel at home. Surely Sandor would come to love it as well.

Winterfell's gates were open as they reached them and Sandor immobilised the van by the sentry box, rolling down his window.

"Good afternoon and welcome to Winterfell. How can I help you?" Jory's voice came through the glass's speak-thru.

Sansa leaned over Sandor's lap, grinning as she caught his eyes. "Hi, Jory! It's been a long time! How are you? I'm going to spend a few weeks at home!" she exclaimed happily.

"Sansa! How nice to see you!" Jory replied. "Your parents told me to expect you. It's going to be nice to have you around." As he spoke, Sansa noticed how he kept peeking at Sandor, clearly a bit confused judging from the frown that creased his brow.

"This is Sandor, my boyfriend," Sansa told him, laying a hand on his chest. "He'll be staying with us for a week. Sandor, this is Jory. He's been working for my family since even before I was born. His parents both work for the resort as well."

"Gods, Sansa, stop it, you're making me look old! But she's right, I've been around for a while now, have been doing odd jobs at the castle ever since I was a teenager," Jory admitted, looking at Sandor. Then, narrowing his eyes at him, he added: "'Seen her run around in diapers. Really doesn't seem that long ago to be honest."

Sandor grunted, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Nice meeting you," he said gruffly.

"Well, I guess we'll see each other late on. Have a good day, Sansa," Jory told her.

Sansa smiled and nodded and Sandor rolled up his window and drove the car away.

"You can use the staff parking at the back of the castle. The house we live in is just at the other side of it," Sansa instructed.

Sandor only nodded and did as she asked.

From its construction thousands of years ago to about eighty years earlier, the Starks had lived in the Great Keep, but when Sansa's great-grandfather opened the castle to tourists, the family had moved to a smaller building so that the main keep could serve to accommodate guests. It had been a good decision, for the charm of the Great Keep was probably the element about Winterfell which attracted most visitors. Also the building in which the family had moved was smaller and better suited for modern living. Not that it was small, it was pretty big actually, but the Great Keep was simply enormous! In the Olden days, the Starks used to have servants, guards and all sorts of retainers living with them and so all that space was necessary. While Sansa loved to spend time at the Great Keep, she had always been happy to live in their house instead. It was a more recent construction, built about three hundred years ago, and made of similar stones as the rest of the castle with a slate roof and the inside of the building was a nice mix of modern conveniences and traditional charm. Sansa couldn't wait to show Sandor around, there were so many things she wanted him to see, yet first, he needed to be introduced to her parents…

After they had both exited the van, Sandor stretched and gazed up at the back of the keep and all around himself. Many mature trees grew in the yard and apart from the parking lot, the place was entirely covered with grass and plants, though it was hard to tell at the moment given the thick blanket of snow that covered the ground. To be inside Winterfell's walls felt like being in a small village with lots of greenery. Someone could easily spend a whole week-end exploring the place. Apart from the main keep and Sansa's family's house, there were several other buildings as well as a huge godswood, a sept, a museum, a glass garden with an impressive collection of rare trees, flowers and plants, a small farm and many other attractions.

"It's bigger than I expected. This place is huge," Sandor commented, his breath coming out in white puffs. He zipped up his the winter coat he had bought in King's Landing before they left and put on his gloves. It was pretty cold today indeed.

"And you've seen nothing, Sandor! I think you'll love it here," Sansa promised, beaming at him.

Even as Sansa spoke, the door of her family's house opened and Rickon, her youngest brother, came running their way. He was followed by Lady, Sansa's Tamaskan dog. "Hi, Sansa! Is that your boyfriend?" Rickon asked even before he had rejoined them.

"I'm glad to see you too, Rickon," Sansa replied, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at him. Her annoyance vanished in a heartbeat when he wrapped his arm around her and embraced her.

Wagging her tail, Lady was walking in circles around them excitedly and Sansa petted her head after she and her brother had parted.

"Lady! What a good girl you are!" she told her happily. But then even as she did, she took a good look at her brother and gasped as she noticed he only wore a thin hoody. "You're not wearing a coat?" she cried out. "Are you crazy? It's freezing! You're going to catch a cold, get back inside, quick! We'll be there in a moment!"

Rickon nodded, yet instead of obeying, he took a step towards Sandor. "How tall are you?" he asked, looking up at him. His teeth were chattering and he was hugging himself and shivering.

"Taller than you, that's for sure," Sandor replied.

"Hurry up now!" Sansa ordered him, not unkindly.

Looking slightly sheepish, Rickon ran away from them and entered the house. Once he was gone, Sansa sighed deeply. "That on can either be adorable or a real pain in the ass, you'll see."

"Most kids are like that," Sandor rasped as he opened the van's back doors. Lady rejoined him and he scratched her behind the ear.

Sansa grabbed her handbag and backpack and Sandor somehow managed to carry all of their remaining luggage singlehandedly.

"You think your folks are watching us through the window?" he asked as they walked toward the entrance.

"No, or else Rickon would _never_ have made it all the way to the van without his coat on. He's lucky my mother didn't see him!"

Sandor snorted and Sansa opened the front door. They entered the hallway and removed their coats, gloves and scarves. Sansa was just done unlacing her boots when Arya arrived with Rickon not far behind. Lady laid down on the floor by their side, her beautiful big eyes still pinned on them.

"Hi, Sansa! Glad to see you!" Arya said, the corner of her mouth pulled in that impish half-smile she so often sported.

"Oh, Arya! How are you?" Sansa let out cheerfully. Throwing her arms around her sister, she hugged her, feeling her stiffen under her touch. Arya was not the most affectionate of her siblings, but Sansa never let it stop her.

"That's my sister, Arya. Arya, this is Sandor," she said after they had parted.

"Nice to meet you," Sandor rasped, gazing down at her.

Standing next to him as she did, Arya looked ridiculously small and skinny. Not intimidated in the least, she was shamelessly studying him, like he was some circus freak just about to perform some trick for her entertainment. "Nice meeting you," she replied eventually.

"Are the parents here?" Sansa asked, peering behind her sister uneasily.

"They're at the Great Keep with guests. They told me to stay and greet you and Rickon tagged along."

"I'm Rickon," Rickon introduced himself taking a few steps towards Sandor until he faced him. His neck was craned so much, Sansa's own neck was sore just looking at him.

"I had guessed as much," Sandor rasped, bowing his head to meet his stare.

Sitting down on the bench, he removed his boots and Arya resumed her not so subtle examination of him, her brow creasing with rising concern.

"Well, yeah, there's no way around it now," she stated after a moment. "It won't be pretty tonight, I tell you that. That Sandor of yours, Sansa… he actually looks even worse in person-"

"Arya!" Sansa shrieked even as Sandor barked one of his rough laughter.

"Hmm, sorry, I probably didn't express myself so well," Arya hurried to add, looking only vaguely apologetic. "I just meant that the parents are going to freak out even more when they see him for real! The pictures we saw were one thing, but to be face to face is only accentuating… _everything_!" she added, gesturing toward him.

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest, utterly upset. "That's so unkind, Arya! You've only just met Sandor a minute ago and here you are, insulting him right in his face!"

"Don't worry about it, little bird, I'm not offended," Sandor assured her, rising to his feet and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I can handle the truth. Think I've never looked in a mirror?"

"I think his scars look cool!" Rickon announced, suddenly appearing at the centre of them all. "They remind me of those of a villain in a horror movie me and Bran watched the other day."

"Rickon!" Sansa cried out, beyond outraged.

Sandor burst out laughing even more this time around. He seemed genuinely amused, which sort of helped Sansa feel a little less embarrassed. Sort of.

"Well, I guess I should apologize - at least, for my silly brother's remark," Arya admitted, eying Rickon reproachfully. "Sorry!" she let out lightly. "Still I'd rather not beat around the bush. You're aware of the shit storm you've caused over here when our parents learned about you and Sansa, right? I hope you're no expecting to be greeted with open arms. Gods! That dinner is going to be _aw-kward_!"

"Arya! Stop it, please!" Sansa almost begged her this time around.

Grunting, Sandor threw his head back in something like despair and rubbed his face with his huge hands. "But your sister's right, Sansa. No sense in pretending this is going to be a walk in the park. I'd rather be told the truth," he rasped wearily. "In the meantime, it's not too late to find ourselves a hotel to stay at. Might be preferable that I didn't stay over here. I'd rather not sleep under the roof of people who despises me," he said, his features setting in a scowl.

"But Winterfell _is_ a hotel!" Sansa pointed out in irritation. "We're not going to pay one of my family's competitors to sleep at another hotel! It would make absolutely no sense! There is plenty of space over here!"

Arya snorted, looking all too relaxed with her hands in her jeans' pockets and back leaned against the wall. "Besides, I've no doubt mum would be against it as well. Everyone will recognise Sansa in Winter Town and if she comes to this side of Westeros but doesn't stay at Winterfell… Well, they'll guess there is trouble in paradise and the gods forbid _that_ happens!" Arya let out in a falsely dramatic tone. "Mum would never allow it! We gotta keep that image of the perfect family we have. No, she'll certainly insist that you stay with us, though I've heard her say she planned on giving Sandor his own room-"

"It'd be ridiculous! She told me as much and I refused!" Sansa cut her angrily. "What would be the sense of that? It's not as if Sandor and I had never had sex! We've been together for nearly eight months now, by the Seven!"

"Eww! Sansa!" Rickon yelled, mimicking a very potent gag reflex.

Sansa blushed. For an instant, she had forgotten her little brother was there. "You don't have to listen if you don't like it, Rickon! Why don't you go play videogames in your room, hmm?"

"No, I want your boyfriend to tell me about all the guys he fought and the MMA tournaments he participated in first. Unless you want to try some of my fighting video games? I have plenty! You could give me tricks so that I manage to beat Bran! He's always winning and I had enough of it!" Rickon exclaimed, grabbing the sleeve of Sandor's sweater and pulling at it.

"Perhaps later, but give us a moment to arrive and install ourselves first, will you?" Sandor told him, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. "We're still in the bloody hallway, by the blasted Others! Why don't you help your sister carry her luggage to her room now? Will help build muscles on that skinny frame of yours."

Nodding with far too much enthusiasm, Rickon seized Sansa's backpack and ran up the stairs. The rest of them followed him at a more sensible, leisurely pace with Lady in tow. Once all the luggage were set in a corner of her room, Sansa had no choice but to chase Rickon away seeing as he kept asking Sandor the most random questions and apparently couldn't stop himself from putting himself in their path as they tried to install themselves. Before she followed him out of the room, Arya stayed in the threshold for an instant, looking at them pensively.

"I'm glad you'll be staying at home with us, I truly am, but please, remember that my room is right behind that wall," she said, nodding towards it. "Be mindful of that when you're busy doing _it_ , okay? There are things a sister would rather not hear. Don't want my ears to bleed."

"Shut up, Arya! We're not that noisy!" Sansa retorted at once, her cheeks burning.

"I sincerely hope so," Arya replied. Shooting them one last look of warning, she turned her back to them and shut the door behind herself.

She had not been gone for more than a couple of seconds that Sandor gazed at Sansa, his brow furrowed. "Not so noisy? What the hells are you talking about, little bird? Have you not heard yourself? I'm pretty sure the Tyrells could keep records of how often we have sex," he stated with a very detestable smirk on his face.

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Stop it, Sandor! Surely it's not _that_ bad! Besides, these walls are thick and I won't let myself go as much anyhow, so you don't have to worry. This is still my parent's house; the knowledge that they are only metres from us will make me… more cautious…" she added, wincing.

Sandor grunted. "Cautious is fine with me, but I've no intention of not screwing you during our stay here," he warned. "Gotta make the most of it before I leave you here and I only get to fuck my hand for a whole bloody month."

"It will go fast, you'll see!" Sansa promised him, though in truth, she was agonising over the prospect of being away from him for so long. She had promised her parents that she would stay with them and help out with all of the weddings that were planned at the resort throughout the weeks to come. It was only normal that she spent some time with her parents and siblings and helped out in the family business, still being away from Sandor would be _so_ _painful_!

Seeming queerly out of place, Sandor was looking around her room, inspecting it with his hands clasped behind his back. While it didn't make a lot of sense, Sansa was feeling a bit shy. Her room was quite girlish with its lacy lavender curtains and lilac comforter. It had not been refurnished since she was fourteen and it showed! At least, Sansa had removed all of the posters of pretty boys her walls used to be plastered with before she left for college a little over a year ago, something for which she was infinitely grateful at this moment.

"So this is the piano we'll be bringing back, I surmise? Would look nice in my living room," Sandor commented, gazing at her slyly.

Sansa only giggled nervously at that. For the last month, he had been hinting that she should move in with him before she started school again. While Sansa would have loved it as well, she wasn't sure it was such a good idea with the 'parents-situation' still far from being settled. Though perhaps with any luck, by the end of this week, it would all be fixed… A girl could dream.

"What's that? Is that you?" Sandor asked. He was looking at a picture of Sansa with some of her best friends from high school. It had been taken two years ago just in font of their school and had been in a frame on her wall ever since.

"It is! Don't tell me you don't recognise me!"

Sandor was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes fixed on the photo. "Of course I do. How could I ever mix-up that pretty face with anyone else's?" Then after a moment of silence, he added: "You're cute as a button in that schoolgirl uniform. Do you still have it?" he asked, shooting her a sidelong glance.

Sighing in mock exasperation, Sansa put her hand on her hip and shook her head. "Yes, but it's going to stay right where it is in my closet! I won't risk my parents catching me wearing my high school uniform for my much older boyfriend's pleasure. Wouldn't look too good."

Sandor grunted in complaint. "A pity, though you're reasoning does make a lot of sense," he muttered, before sitting at the edge of the bed. "Come over here now, princess," he said, pulling her over him.

Sansa let him do it and hugged him. While he embraced her back, there was no ignoring the tension in him. She didn't have to ask him what that was about.

"You don't have to worry, Sandor. I'm sure everything will go well! And don't you listen to my sister. She has a tendency to very pessimistic."

Snorting, Sandor drew her closer. "Too bad I've a tendency to be very pessimistic too..."

* * *

Dinner was to be at 7PM, mum informed Sansa through text messaging. And so for the remaining of the afternoon, Sansa and Sandor hung out in the basement media room with Arya, Bran and Rickon. Rickon insisted that they played rounds of the various fighting games he and Bran owned. As the hours went on, he grew increasingly frustrated as Sandor proved to be an utter disappointment.

"Aren't you supposed to be an MMA fighter?" Rickon cried out in affront when he had had enough, his face screwed. "You suck! Now even Sansa has beaten you!"

There had never been a more humiliating loss. No one had ever been defeated by Sansa before. _No one_. Sansa would have giggled in glee at the notion of finally having won for once in her life if not for her fear of wounding Sandor's pride.

Clearly annoyed, though he tried to play it cool, the latter tossed his gamepad on Rickon's lap. "Sorry about that, twiggy boy. I guess I've spent too much time at the gym and sports center in my younger days instead of in front of a bloody television like you. I can only regret now," Sandor rasped, sending him a glare.

"Hey! I'm no _twiggy_ _boy_!" Rickon countered, his face reddening.

Arya sniggered. "It does suit you. Perhaps we should all call you like that from now on: twiggy boy," she said, peeking at him with a mischievous air about her.

"This is bullshit! I am not _skinny_!" Rickon nearly screamed, his hands balled in fists. He looked around himself for support and lost his assurance when no one answered his call. "Am I?" he added eventually, his face dropping.

Sandor smirked at him. "You're still young, boy. Plenty of time to turn things around if that's what you wish," he said, patting him on the shoulder.

Rickon pulled himself away from him, glowering.

"Rickon, don't be mean to Sandor," Sansa scolded him gently. "In return I'll make sure he doesn't call you twiggy boy again, is that alright?"

"I guess," the boy answered petulantly.

"As for you Sandor, I think you ought to know that Rickon is actually pretty active. I'm sure he'd love to spend some time with you at the resort's gym. Bran's the true videogames and computer addict here," Sansa informed him.

"I know of about twenty different cheats for this game. Some I've never told Rickon so I can keep beating him. Want me to tell you a few?" Bran proposed, glancing slyly at Sandor.

"Perhaps later. I'm done with videogames for today," he replied gruffly. "A man can take so many failures in one afternoon…"

At that very instant, the sound of people entering the house was heard coming from the first floor. "Hi, everyone! We're home now!" came dad's voice.

Sansa almost had a heart attack on the spot. Her siblings seemed curious about Sandor and had reacted pretty well to him. So far, they seemed to like him well enough and it had helped her remain calm as she waited for dinner time to arrive. Her parents would be a whole other matter and to know them so near was nerve-racking… _Everything is going to be just fine,_ she told herself, breathing in deeply.

Grunting, Sandor shifted and stretched. "'Time to introduce myself to your folks has come," he said unenthusiastically. As sluggishly as if he carried the weight of the world over his shoulders, he stood up from his place on the sectional couch.

"Yes, let's go," Sansa agreed, her pulse resounding in her ears.

"I think I'll stay here and play videogames for moment still," Arya announced, grimacing. "And you two would do well to do the same," she added, glancing at both Rickon and Bran.

Sending her sister a weak yet grateful smile, Sansa slid her hand in Sandor's and climbed up the stairs with him.

They arrived on the main floor and rejoined mum in the kitchen where she was busy putting a roast beef and trey of vegetables in the oven.

"Hi, mum!" Sansa exclaimed as eagerly as she could.

"Sansa! How are you?" the woman replied, her back still to her.

She turned around and her smile faltered for a fraction of second as she glanced at Sandor. Still, she quickly returned her attention to Sansa and, smiling widely again, she walked towards her with her arms parted.

"So glad to see you!" she exclaimed before wrapping them around her. Sansa hugged her back, genuinely happy to see her.

When they parted, mum's stare darted to up to Sandor who loomed by their side and the look in her eyes turned wary.

"Mum, this is Sandor! I'm so glad you're finally getting to meet him!" Sansa exclaimed, closing both her hands around his thick arm and leaning her head against the side of his shoulder.

"Good evening, Mrs. Stark," he rasped, bowing his head slightly.

"Tully. I have kept my surname," she corrected him a bit stiffly.

"Mrs. Tully then," Sandor repeated politely, clearly on his best behaviour.

An awkward moment of silence passed between them before mum cleared her throat and headed to the kitchen's island. "So, Sansa told me you have never come all this way north before. Not too deterred by the harshness of our weather?"

"No, not at all," Sandor started. "I actually like the cold. I think the scenery is beautiful around here."

"It is indeed," mum said, keeping her eyes lowered on the vegetables she was chopping. "How did that road trip go?" she asked.

"Wonderful! We had so much fun, haven't we, Sandor?" Sansa asked, looking up at him.

Sandor gave her a slight smile. "We did, little bird. I enjoyed it," he agreed, his tone genuine, though his features were taut.

"Little bird?" mum repeated, puzzled.

"Sandor often calls me like that. It's his little pet name for me. I think it's sweet."

Mum frowned. "Where does it come from?"

"It just suits her, I find," Sandor answered, apparently preferring not to elaborate.

Before mum had time to inquire more about it, dad entered the kitchen.

"Sweetie, look at you! So beautiful," he said as Sansa jumped in his arms. They hugged and as they parted, she felt his frame tense against her.

"So, you must be Sandor," dad stated, peering his way.

"I am," Sandor rasped, walking towards him. "Nice meeting you, Mr. Stark."

Dad shook his hand, his lips curving in the stiffest smile Sansa had ever witnessed. "May I offer you something to drink? A beer perhaps?" he demanded, ever the good host in spite of the sombre look on his face.

"Why not? A beer sounds good."

With that, he fetched a couple of beers in the fridge, gave one to Sandor and served both Sansa and her mother a glass of white wine.

As Sansa helped her mother set the table and prepare the salad, both men sat on barstools by the island. Without much preliminary, dad almost immediately started drilling Sandor with questions. Where was he from? Who had his parents been? To which school had he gone to? And what about his previous relationships? Sansa soon began to pity him; this was no better than being interrogated by the police! At least dad had the decency not to ask him about his horrible brother, something for which Sansa was infinitely grateful…

Sandor answered all of his questions as best he could without neither elaborating too much nor evading any of them. Although he was not one for fake smiles and flatteries, he remained polite and was doing pretty well as far as Sansa could tell. In spite of it, her heart was hammering in her chest the whole time and she was relieved when the soup was served and they were at last rejoined by Bran, Arya and Rickon. This would take the attention off of Sandor for a bit.

"I'm starving! All of that fighting has really exhausted me!" Rickon all but yelled as he took his regular place by the table.

"Fighting? What are you talking about, Rickon?" dad asked severely.

"We were playing videogames, dad. No worries; we didn't try to kill each other this afternoon," Arya informed him, sounding every bit the teenager she was.

Clearly displeased with her tone, dad wince same as if he was in pain, though he didn't comment on it.

As everyone slurped their soup, mum questioned Sansa's siblings about their day. They each spoke in turn and Sandor seemed all too happy to eat in silence and let others do the talking for a while. Sansa kept stroking his thigh under the table. It was so odd to have him by her side at her family's large dinning table, but despite her nerves, she did like the notion of it very much. Hopefully in time, he would feel as if he belonged around this table just as much as any other member of her family.

"So, are you really going to teach me how to fight while you're here, as Sansa said you would? We could go to the gym tomorrow. We'd have enough place to practice," Rickon proposed all of a sudden, gazing at Sandor with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Well, if your parents don't oppose, I guess I could show you a few tricks," he answered, glancing in the latter's' direction.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Rickon. You're too young and I fear you wouldn't put your knowledge to good use," dad answered, his features pulled in a stern mask.

"But, dad! I'm among the smallest of my school year! It would give me an advantage at least if I could defend myself!" With that, Rickon spread a ton of butter over his fifth slice of bread.

"Don't go looking for trouble and you'll never have to defend yourself that way. Now stop eating bread, you've had enough!" mum scolded him.

"But, _mum_! It's not fair!" he whined, his mouth full. "Arya does karate! Could I do karate at least? I'll never be anything but skinny and weak if I don't start doing something about it _now_!"

"Enough, Rickon. We have a guest here in case you have not noticed, so please _behave yourself_ ," dad ordered in his 'I had enough' voice. That did the trick and silenced the boy, for the time being at least.

The main course was served not long after, roast beef with grilled potatoes, asparagus and onions and some salad on the side.

"So Sansa, any special demands for your nameday dinner?" mum asked even as she cut her beef in small pieces in her plate.

In four days, Sansa would indeed turn nineteen, just two days before Sandor left the North for King's Landing.

"Thanks, mum, but no! I'm already _so_ happy that I'll get to spend it here at home with all of you and Sandor! I couldn't ask for anything more. Cannot wait for Robb and Jon to arrive as well!"

"I've ordered a lemon cake from our pastry chef and he's going to bake it on the morning of your nameday so that it be fresh and perhaps even still warm when we eat it. I hope you don't mind that I didn't consult you first. I had an inkling it wouldn't bother you."

"Oh, of course not, mum! Thank you so much! Lemon cake is my favourite and you know it well enough." Then turning to Sandor, Sansa added, beaming: "Winterfell's pastry chef makes the best lemon cake in the whole world, you'll see, Sandor! I'm sure you'll love it too."

While Sandor's uneasiness was palpable, at least to Sansa who knew him so well, seeing her so excited and happy obviously warmed his heart. "I'm not one for sweets, little bird, but I'll give it a try of course," he said, his eyes twinkling when he looked at her. With that, he gazed in mum's direction, his expression suddenly more serious. "This meal is delicious by the way, Mrs Tully. The best roast beef I've ever had to be honest."

"Thank you," mum said a bit stiffly, though her lips did curve in a smile.

Sandor had barely touched his wine. He clearly was being cautious and Sansa was so proud of him for all of his efforts. This was not the most pleasant of dinners, far from it. If it had not been for her sibling's constant babble, it would even have been quite frankly disagreeable, yet this was Sandor's very first meeting with her parents and some awkwardness was inevitable given the circumstances. The ice had to be broken and things could only get better from now.

When they were done eating dinner, coffee and tea with slices of apple pie and vanilla ice cream were served.

"So, what are your plans for the remaining of your stay at Winterfell?" dad asked Sandor a bit too formally, stirring his coffee with a spoon.

"Your daughter is going to show me around Winter Town tomorrow. There were talks of going on a hike in the Wolfwood later on, of a day trip in the mountains, to visit the museum..."

"And we really should go skiing too!" Sansa insisted, an impish grin splitting her face. She had spent the last two weeks trying to convince Sandor to give skiing a try, but he had flat out refused each and every time she brought up the subject. After a time, it had become a running gag between them.

Unsurprisingly, Sandor snorted and shook his head as he heard her proposition. "Leave it, princess. You know this is not happening. I've never skied of my _fucking_ life. Don't want you to make fun of me when I keep falling on my arse."

At hearing him curse, both mum and dad gazed at him with eyes full of reproach.

Dad cleared his throat, his frown deepening. "You'll excuse me, but such language is not tolerated in our household, especially during dinner and even less before the younger children."

"I've heard people say fuck before, dad!" Rickon cried out, offended.

"Watch your language, young man," the man snapped at him, clearly displeased.

For all of his previous affront, Rickon was easily cowered and lowered his gaze to what was left of his pie slice, toying with it in silence.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Stark. I forgot myself. I'll be more careful from now on," Sandor rasped, looking sincerely apologetic. Sansa had never seen him look so ill-at-ease and she stroked his thigh under the table to comfort him.

Nodding just once, Dad grunted and Sansa hurriedly resumed speaking. It'd be best if she kept the conversation going; this way the moment would pass more quickly and her parents would forget about Sandor's slip, or at least, that was what she hoped. She ended telling them in more detail about all of the activities she had planned to do with Sandor during his time in the North and her parents both seemed happy enough to change the subject.

It wasn't so long after that before everyone retired to their room. When Harry had been invited for dinner at Sansa's house for the first time, the whole family had played board games by the fireplace after being done eating in order to get to know him better. This time around, Sansa's parents excused themselves with the pretext of having to wake up at dawn tomorrow. Sansa didn't really mind. She was tired as well and could tell Sandor needed some time alone.

In spite of the tension there had been in the air and especially, of that last unfortunate cursing incident, Sansa was reasonably satisfied with the dinner's outcome. Neither of her parents had downright insulted Sandor and the latter had been able to remain with them all through the meal and had shared their food like any regular guest. Yes, her parents had been cold towards him, but they had remained polite and had not put into question his presence at their table at any moment. It was not such terrible beginnings when you took into consideration her parent's reaction to learning about Sandor. Things could've been far worse, yet Sandor apparently did not agree.

"They hate me," he breathed flatly. Still wearing his jeans and sweater, he was lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. "And I don't blame them," he added roughly, rubbing his face his hands. "What the fuck am I even doing here?"

Knitting her brow, Sansa climbed over him. "Stop it, Sandor! You're wrong, they don't hate you! It's just that they don't know you and are at bit on their guards. We still have a few days ahead of us. Things are bound to get better. By the time you leave, you'll be getting along with them just fine, you'll see!"

Sandor only laughed tiredly at that, but Sansa didn't let him ruin her tentative good humour and she hugged him instead of trying to convince him she was right. Everything would turn out perfectly by the end of his stay, she just knew it.


	23. Chapter 23

_Hooray! One more chapter completed! And now, there's only one chapter left to this story before it's over! TBH, I'm looking forward to being done with it, so I'll try to deliver it relatively rapidly. In the meantime, I hope that those who still follow this story enjoy! Please leave a comment if you do! :D_

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For the first time since he and Sansa had arrived to Winterfell, Sandor had some time by himself today. A little after they had eaten lunch, Sansa had left him for the resort's spa where she would meet some of her high school friends and she would eat dinner with them at some restaurant downtown afterwards. She hadn't wanted to go at first seeing as she didn't want to leave him alone, but Sandor had insisted she joined them anyway. The last thing he wanted was to be the milestone around her neck that stopped her from doing whatever she fancied. Sandor was genuinely happy that she got to spend time with her friends and they had agreed to meet up later on at a bar so that he be introduced and the prospect had appeased Sansa's guilt.

As for Sandor, his afternoon was spent at Winterfell's gym among the resort's guests, lifting weights with his most violent heavy metal plugged in his ears. He did enjoy being alone, it gave him time to think, which was a luxury these days that Sansa's overenthusiasm's youngest brother was following him everywhere, constantly prattling nonsense. But today, even Rickon and Bran were gone from the castle. A couple of hours ago, they had headed to the town's arcade with their cousin and older brother, Jon and Robb, and the family's house had been eerily silent since then.

To Sandor's relief, Sansa's older brother and cousin did seem to like him well enough. At least, he was accepted by all of her siblings, which was as much as he could hope for in his position. And to be fair, things were going relatively well for him, insofar as the little bird's folks had not kicked him out of their home yet nor been too obviously rude with him. But their dislike of him was unmistakable and Sandor could hardly blame them; he was not exactly what any sound parents should have in mind for their eighteen years old daughter.

On a positive note, his days at Winterfell were coming to an end: tomorrow would be Sansa's nameday and two days later, he would be leaving for King's Landing. So far, Sandor's strategy had been to keep a low profile and speak as little as he could and it had apparently paid out seeing as he was still here, sleeping under the Starks' roof, even after all those days of awkwardness. He would continue laying low until it was time he departed and then, he would just disappear and try to forget about his in-laws till the next time the little bird insisted her accompanied her to her family's resort.

While the prospect of having to part with Sansa was painful, a part of Sandor also couldn't wait to finally leave this blasted place. It was not that he didn't like the North – to the contrary, he had even grown quite fond of it. He liked its stark yet beautiful nature and scenery, and the cold weather didn't bother him in the least. Also, the people here seemed less superficial and more relaxed and there was more space to breathe. Sandor had always hated how crowded King's Landing was. It's seemed everywhere you went, there were people on top of each other and you could never have a moment of peace unless you locked yourself in your tiny overpriced apartment.

Still, for all of that, being under the roof of Sansa's parents meant that he was always on his guards, which was admittedly a bit stressful. He needed to be careful about what he did, about what he said… and try all he could not to curse! Often, he felt watched. If it was not her folks' severe gaze that was pinned on him, it was one or another member of the resort's staff - who all adored Sansa and wondered what the hells she was doing with him - that was keeping an eye on him. It wasn't the most relaxing of vacations, though this was in truth no vacations at all. He was here because he had job to do: be introduced to his girlfriend's family and hopefully, be accepted by the end of his stay. Or at least, grudgingly tolerated. So far so good. Sandor could live with uneasiness and a few severe stares if it meant he would have the little bird in his life. It was not like they would move in with her parents, thankfully. Sons and parents-in-laws very often did not get along and that didn't mean a relationship couldn't last in spite of it.

After a couple of hours at the resort's gym, Sandor headed back to Sansa's room to take a shower in the adjoining bathroom she shared with her sister. Once he was dry, he put on a pair of blue jeans and a flannel shirt and climbed down the stairs with the purpose of going to Winter Town. Since Sansa would be out tonight, Sandor preferred not to linger around. He simply couldn't envision himself sitting at her parent's table without her, waiting for dinner to be served. Even taking food out of their fridge and fixing himself something to eat was totally out of the question. He would find himself a pub and spend the evening there before meeting Sansa and her friends later on.

In the meantime, he'd have plenty of time to walk around town and do some shopping. While Sandor had already purchased a present for Sansa's nameday - a designer leather handbag he knew she had her eyes on - he didn't feel like it was nearly enough. Sansa was special and she deserved more than a mere handbag, no matter how pretty it may be. She was everything to him and he felt like whatever he did, his gift would never be sufficient. Still, the least he could do was try to find something worthy of her and of the love he had for her and that was exactly what he would attempt later on today.

Just as Sandor was approaching the entranceway, he glanced a movement out the corner of his eye and looked back over his shoulder to see the little bird's father standing by his office's door with his gaze fixed on him. Nodding his head to salute him, Sandor halted and waited for him to speak.

The man cleared his throat. "Good afternoon. I see you're on your way, but I would like to have a word with you, if you can spare a moment," he said in that polite yet cold tone Sandor had gotten to know so well these past days.

Although having a chat with Sansa's father was the last thing Sandor wanted right now, refusing was sadly not an option. "Of course," he replied, feeling his frame grow tense at once. This was not looking good. Whatever it was that he wished to tell him, Sandor had an inkling he wouldn't like it.

For all of that there was no way out of this, thus Sandor entered, Ned Stark closing the door behind him. There was a small round table in the office that probably served for informal meetings with staff members and the man gestured for him to take a seat by its side. The whole setting reminded Sandor strangely of all those times he had been sent to the principal's office as a teenager after he had gotten into a brawl on the high school's grounds. This was not an impression he had missed in the least nor that he had ever expected to experience again, especially not in his mid-thirties at a girlfriend's house.

"Would you like something to drink? A coffee, a tea, a soft drink?" As he spoke, Ned Stark walked to the coffee maker he had on a table by the wall and started to prepare himself an espresso. He was pretty well equipped, had a small refrigerator, some mugs and cups, even a small dishwasher.

"Thank you. I'll have an espresso as well," Sandor said, trying to hide his discouragement. Being offered a drink was anything but a good sign. This sounded like it would take a while.

His nearly perpetual frown creasing his brow as always, Ned Stark prepared them two cups of espresso before setting them both on the table. Sandor thanked him and took a small sip.

"We did not get the occasion to truly speak yet, man to man," the other man started, taking a seat in front of him.

Sandor did not say anything to that, just kept his stare on him and listened.

Sighing, Ned Stark ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I'll not beat around the bush and be frank with you. I did try to be open-minded about this relationship Sansa has with you: the fact that I agreed to meet you before I made up my mind definitively is certainly a proof of that. Yet now that you're here, my opinion remains unchanged. I have a hard time understanding what it is you find in each other."

For a short instant, Sandor waited to see if the man would add anything. "Well, to be truthful, there's nothing very complicated about it," he started when he didn't. "I just love your daughter and want to be with her, that's all."

The man's face wrinkled, like he had tasted something foul. "My daughter told me as much. But you have to put yourself in our place and understand our apprehension."

Breathing in deeply, Sandor shut his eyes for a brief instant. The conversation he had dreaded had come after all. Really, he had been delusional to believe he could escape it. He needed to remain calm. He could understand the little bird's parents 'worries indeed and if he wished to prove them wrong, being on his best behaviour was crucial.

"I do. I realise I come from a different background and that I'm older-"

"A lot older," Ned Stark cut him gruffly.

Flinching, Sandor felt the corner of his mouth twitch, but he wouldn't allow his temper to get the better of him. "Yes, a lot indeed," he admitted grudgingly. "Still, it doesn't matter to neither of us. I don't see her as an eighteen, almost nineteen years old, but as Sansa: the woman I want to be with."

"She's barely a woman though. At her age, I cannot say I trust her to make the wisest decisions always."

 _Barely a woman?_ Sandor thought, struggling not to roll his eyes. Only a father could be so blind as to think of the little bird as _barely a woman_. She was all woman, shapely, beautiful, warm and inviting, still he was not about to tell her poor father as much.

"If she's making a mistake with me, at least it won't be because I don't treat her well. I'd do anything for her, she's the centre of my world," Sandor rasped instead. "But just for the hell of it, let's say you're right for a moment and that she'll come to see me as an 'unwise decision' she made. Well, what of it? It's no big deal. She'll leave me when she changes her mind about me and that'll be it. What are you so afraid of? We all have a right to make our own mistakes - it's formative even."

Ned Stark didn't seem convinced and his mouth pulled in a frown just as deep and severe as the one he had on his brow. "I'm willing to let her live her own experiences of course, so long as her choices make sense."

The man's claim rubbed Sandor the wrong way and he had to use all of the self-control he had not to raise his voice. "What's not making sense in this? _Me_?" Snorting, he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin. "Sansa's a smart girl and she knows what she's doing. The age gap apart, I'm not such a terrible choice, you know. I'm not a lawyer or a doctor, that's true enough, but I have career I'm good at and am making a good living."

"Your career is not the problem here. I hate to have to repeat myself, but I think I have no choice. You're too old for her, period. I'm not at ease with the idea of my eighteen years old daughter frequenting a man almost twice her age."

 _Who says you have to be at ease with it?_ Sandor thought in mounting exasperation. It was not with Sansa's old man that he was in a relationship with, but with her. "I've heard you. There's not much I can do about my age though. It's not like I can drink from the bloody fountain of youth and become young enough to your taste," Sandor said testily.

Ignoring his jape, Ned Stark grunted and took a sip of espresso. "My daughter may be smart, but her youth makes her impressionable," he began, setting back his cup over its saucer. "You're glossing over the impact of your age difference. It's more important than you pretend. There's bound to be an imbalance to a relationship like yours, someone who has more control over it, who calls the shots-"

Sandor snorted. "If there's anyone calling the shot between the two of us, it's Sansa! She's the boss, you better believe that," he told him, a sneer twisting his face.

"I've not been around you two enough to know the truth of it. But I'll admit it doesn't look good and with you and Sansa living so faraway, it's hard for her mother and I not to worry."

Sandor exhaled loudly and threw his head back, suddenly exhausted. This conversation was going nowhere. There was no way he could ever turn things around and convince the damned man sitting in front of him that he was not the creep he thought he was. But if there was one thing he could still do, it was not to make things even worse by losing his fucking temper and so he took a deep breath and tried to ignore the irritation building in him.

"Well, whatever it is that you fear, I can assure you there's nothing to worry about. I treat your daughter like the princess she is and she always does whatever the hells she wants. She wouldn't stay with me if I didn't make her happy. I'm not keeping her prisoner, by the Seven! She's free to go whenever she wants."

"I do hope so," Ned Stark responded, eying him sternly.

His face pulling in a deep scowl, Sandor shook his head in frustration and leaned back in his seat. "Of course you do, but it's the bloody truth so what else am I to tell you at this point?" Sandor snapped. _Fuck, I'm beginning to lose it,_ he mused, angry at himself just as much as at Ned bloody Stark. "I love your daughter," he added, his voice a bit calmer now. "I would rather die than to hurt her. I'd do anything for her… What more do you want from me?"

"What I want?" Ned Stark let out, furrowing his brow. "It's quite simple, really. In my opinion, if you were truly genuinely concerned about Sansa's best interest, you'd see this relationship of yours is not appropriate. You would leave her for her own good, so that she got to experience life as a girl of her age is supposed to, with friends and companions of her age. Staying with her, it's a selfish act on your part."

For an instant, Sandor stared at him in disbelief, red-hot fury flaring in him. He was speechless, but not for very long. Narrowing his eyes at him, he leaned over the table. "Are you really telling me that the only way I could ever prove myself worthy of your daughter in your eyes would be by _dumping her_? Makes no bloody sense! You think she'd agree with you?"

"Of course not, but that's the whole point," Ned Stark said icily, his feature wrinkling in distasted. "I'd be your chance to prove yourself more reasonable than her, more mature. I'm not saying you couldn't get back together in some years, when she's older and your age difference doesn't matter as much anymore. But for now, my view is that if you were truly looking out for her, you'd see a relationship between the two of you is not viable."

" _Not viable_ ," Sandor repeated, his mouth twitching madly now. "Why would it not be? Because my in-laws say so? That's bullshit."

The man cringed. "You asked me what I wanted and I told you. There is honour in self-sacrifice."

Sandor hardly knew what to do with himself anymore. This man was driving him mad! "But there's no bloody sense in sacrificing myself by dumping the woman I love and breaking her heart by the same token when all is going perfectly well between us! I'm not gonna leave her. Hells no!"

With that, Sandor stood up so abruptly from his seat that he bumped into the table by accident and nearly knocked it over. It swayed and shook violently and would certainly have fallen to the ground if not for Ned Stark's solid grip on its edge. The cups oscillated noisily over their saucers for a couple of seconds, losing most of the espresso they still contained in the process, yet they remained upright by some miracle.

 _Shit_ , Sandor thought, but he was too enraged to linger upon his near blunder. He couldn't even be bothered to apologise. "You better get used to my ugly face, because unless Sansa tells me she's done with me, I'm not going anywhere," he hissed, pointing a finger at his chest. "You may be stuck with me for a while still. Who knows?"

Before he could make the situation any worse, Sandor turned around and stormed towards the door. He looked back over his shoulder one last time as he reached the threshold. "Evening, Mr. Stark," he spat.

Banging the door shut behind himself, Sandor strode to the entranceway and put on his coat and boots as fast as he could. The last thing he wanted was to be caught up and forced to resume this conversation and thus he only slid on his gloves and zipped up his coat as he walked through the yard. The sun was setting already; Sandor had not realised it was so late. A light snow was falling and without the sun, the air was pretty chilly, yet he passed by his van without getting in. He needed some time to think and taking a walk all the way to downtown would do him some good. Winter town was a small city and he would reach its centre in about a half hour. Also, he badly needed a drink - many drinks! - and it would probably be best if he didn't drive afterwards.

 _Fuck! I'm just a buggering dog in truth!_ Sandor thought once his blood had cooled down enough that he could see clearly again. Had he really just snarled and sworn at Sansa's buggering father? He had, damn it, he had! And not only that, but he had almost knocked over his table with everything on top of it as he left! That little impromptu talk had not gone so well at all, yet Sandor could hardly see how things could have gone differently. The suggestions Ned Stark had made - they were simply ridiculous! But the worse was, Sandor could tell the man had not been kidding even one bit, that he had truly meant every word he said.

A part of Sandor did wonder if he had not wished to test his limits as well, to see what was his breaking point. If that was the case indeed, then he had had his answer: Sandor had a mean temper when you provoked him. But what the fuck did he expect? What was a man supposed to do when someone suggested he ought to leave the woman of his life for no good reason? And besides, if Sandor was to listen to him and let go of Sansa as easily as that, what the hells would that say about his love? It would say it was worth shit. Still, it was not by intimidating his father-in-law that he would win his esteem and be accepted in the family. As it was, his reaction had probably only confirmed his suspicions that he was not a good partner for Sansa, that he was short-tempered and of an aggressive temperament. While there was some truth to that, from his vantage point, the man did not see the whole picture. He did not know how Sandor's temper was all but inexistent when he was with Sansa, how gentle as a lamb he was for her. There was something soothing about her, something that gentled the rage in him…

Yet for now, she was not here and his anger was boiling all right. "Ah, fuck!" Sandor cursed aloud, suddenly taken by an urge to kick at the snowbank that flanked the cobblestone sidewalk he strode on. He did not do it, took a deep breath and controlled himself, same as if he wished to prove himself he was not as bad as Ned Stark believed. _But I am, damn it! I am just as bad,_ he reflected darkly, scratching the nape of his neck. Still whatever his faults, Sandor was a loyal and devoted man and there was nothing that would ever make him leave the little bird, apart from her own words. So long as she wanted him, he'd be there by her side, and her bloody family could go fuck themselves for as much as he cared. He would show them he was not so easily driven away. He'd be the thorn in their sides till the end of times, and happily so.

In the meantime, Sandor hoped Sansa wouldn't hear of his altercation with her father. He wouldn't tell her, that was for certain, but he had no clue what Ned Stark would choose to do about it. One way or another, the prospect of leaving her alone with her family for a whole fucking month when he departed for King's Landing was not very reassuring. Even if her father decided not to share the details of their afternoon talk with her, there was no doubting that he and his wife would spend long hours trying to convince Sansa that she'd be better off without him. What if they succeeded? He'd be so faraway and with the distance, she might end up siding with her parents and forget about his redeeming qualities to see him solely for the brute they took him for. She may never come back to him after she returned to King's Landing… He may never get to so much as even ever see her again…

 _Stop it, you stupid, dog,_ Sandor berated himself, shaking his head at his stupidity. He was being ridiculous, pathetic even! Sansa loved him; she told him as much many times a day and he knew her feelings were genuine and deep. He had to trust her, she deserved as much.

With all of his thinking, Sandor had not paid much attention to his surroundings and he was surprised to apparently all of a sudden find himself already nearly at the centre of town. Without him even realising it, the narrow and winding lane he had been advancing on when he left Winterfell had become a large and crowded street flanked with shops and restaurants, each full of patrons. As he kept progressing, he saw a few pubs, all of which beckoned him pretty badly, however the nice dark northern beer he was dying for would have to wait. He still had a mission to fulfil: finding the little bird one more gift for her nameday. Sandor had a good idea of what he wanted. He'd read about that jewellery store which had an excellent reputation when he did his researches on the net in the morning and he headed toward it from the moment he glanced its elegant yet discreet sign. He would buy something very nice for Sansa, no matter the price. She was worth spending enough to leave a hole in his wallet.

"How can I help you?" a tall, graceful man asked him as he entered. His smile didn't falter even after Sandor had approached enough that his scars were clearly visible to him, something which was far more common in the North than in King's Landing or the Westerlands. One more reason to like the region.

"Looking for something nice for my girlfriend's nameday," he said, glancing around himself. The place had minimalistic yet tasteful decoration. There were lighted displays on the counters and walls and with the store's subdued lighting, they really took centre stage.

"You came in the right place," the salesman replied pleasantly.

Sandor had to agree. There were many nice bracelets, necklaces, brooches and pendant in here. With the salesman's help, he spent the next half hour looking at everything the place had to offer. Sandor was so clueless where jewellery was concerned, he was glad for some assistance and he listened as the man told him about the different stones which adorned the jewellery he showed him, the quality of the gold and silver it was made of and the way a woman would wear each piece. Taking a decision over what to pick would be hard, there was too much to choose from, but that was certainly a good problem to have.

Then, even as the salesman showed him a series of delicate gold chains, Sandor's attention got caught by a nice diamond and sapphire ring which sparkled under the lighting not far from where he stood. He turned to look at it and bowed over the counter to better examine it. It was striking, would look so nice on Sansa's feminine finger.

"This is from our engagement rings collection," the salesman informed him as he brought the display it was placed on with a dozen other rings over the glass counter. "All of our rings are easily adjustable if ever the one you choose doesn't fit the hand of your future fiancé to perfection and we will do it for no additional fees. As you can see, they are all exquisite. I've never heard of a woman refusing a man when presented with one such beautiful ring."

Straightening his back at once, Sandor snorted in surprise and shook his head. That was not what he was looking for and he made to turn, yet for some reason, he kept his stare on the ring. Images of the little bird's mother freaking out, of her bloody father's solemn face turning red in both wrath and shock flashed in his mind. What a scene that would make - Sandor almost wanted to chuckle at the thought of it.

The salesman was perceptive enough to understand him even though he had not spoken a word. Apologising for his suggestion, he seized the display with both hands with the clear intent of storing it back under the glass counter, however before he could think better of it, Sandor stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

"Wait," he said. "I'll take it. How much is it?" he asked, a small, wicked smile pulling at his lips.


End file.
